v 


s 


V 


The 

Thirteenth  Man 


By 
MRS.  COULSON  KERNAHAN 

Author  of 

Under  Seal  of  the  Confessional,"  "  The  Gate  of  Sinners  " 
"The    Fraud"     "Treurinnot    of  Guy's," 
"An  Artist's  Model,"etc.,  etc. 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 


Co 

MISS  M    BETHAM-EDWARDS 

Whom  all  the  world  admires  as  poet,  novelist  and 
essayist,  and  all  who  know  her  personally  love 
and  reverence  as  true  woman  and  dear  friend. 


2136647 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — WHICH  INTRODUCES  A  YOUNG  AUTHOR      7 

II. — A  CONFESSION 13 

III. — AN  ALARMING  SUGGESTION  .  .     20 

IV. — A  COMPLICATION         .        .         .         .27 

V. — A  WOMAN'S  HONOR    .         .        .         -34 

VI. — THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN       .         .        .41 

VIL— THE  PRISONER 48 

VIIL— THE  Kiss 55 

IX. — PHYLLIS  THROWS  A  BOMB  .  .61 

X. — FOR  A  SON'S  SAKE        .        .         .        .     67 

XI. — A  RAY  OF  HOPE 73 

XII. — THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  LITTLE  WOOD  .  79 
XIII. — A  JUDGMENT  BY  APPEARANCES  .  .  84 
XIV. — "AND  WHAT  A  NOBLE  PLOT  WAS 

CROSSED" 91 

XV. — "STRONG  IN  WAR,  BUT  WEAK  IN  LOVE"     97 

XVI. — THE  BIRTH  OF  A  SOUL        .         .         .  103 

XVII. — WHAT  A  DOG'S  LEASH  PREVENTED  .     .no 

XVIII. — PHILIP  SITS  IN  JUDGMENT  .         .         .118 

XIX. — COLONEL  LANE  GOES  OFF  GUARD        .  123 

XX.— "So  NEAR,  AND  YET  so  FAR!"    .         .131 

XXI. — Two  MEN  Discuss  A  WOMAN      .         .140 

XXII. — ALVIN  TRIES  ARTFULLY  TO  BRING  OLD 

LOVERS  TOGETHER  .         .         .         .  147 

XXIII.— THE  LETTER 154 

XXIV. — WORSE  COMPLICATIONS        .        .        .  161 
XXV. — PHYLLIS  THE  MARTYR!  .  166 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVL— "DRAT  LOVE  AFFAIRS  !"  SAID  MRS. 

PlCKETT 174 

XXVII. — A  HALF-CONFIDENCE          .  .181 

XXVIII. — THE     PROBLEM     OF     EWERETTA'S 

MIND 189 

XXIX.— "A  DANIEL  INDEED!"    .        .        .195 
XXX. — SUCH  is  LOVE        ....  202 
XXXI.— THE  COLONEL  GOES  AGAIN   "ON 

DUTY" 208 

XXXII. — UNCLE    ROBERT    is    EFFECTIVELY 

DAMPED 216 

XXXIII. — DAMNING  EVIDENCE      .        .         .  224 

XXXIV.— THE  FLIGHT  OF  PHYLLIS       .         .231 

XXXV. — PHILIP  TAKES  DRASTIC  MEASURES  237 

XXXVI. — COLONEL  LANE  APOLOGIZES  .        .  243 

XXXVIL— THE  HAND  OF  FATE      .         .        .251 

XXXVIII. — IN  THE  DEPTHS  OF  DESPAIR  .         .  258 

XXXIX. — A  SUPERNATURAL  HAPPENING       .  266 

XL. — MOTHER  AND  SON  ....  273 

XLI. — A  TESTIMONIAL  TO  Miss  LINKIN    .  278 

XLII. — How  REPUTATIONS  ARE  RUINED    .  286 

XLIII. — A  MIRACULOUS  MEDICINE      .        .  292 

XLIV. — How  AN  EDITION  OF  "WINGS  AND 

WINDS"  WAS  SOLD    .        .         .  298 
XLV. — How    A     SCANDAL-MONGER     WAS 

SERVED 303 

XLVI. — THE    MYSTERY    OF    THE    LITTLE 

WOOD  REVEALED  AT  LAST  .         .  308 
XLVIL— THE  LAST 315 


THE  THIRTEENTH    MAN 

CHAPTER  I 

WHICH  INTRODUCES  A  YOUNG  AUTHOR 

A  STRANGE,  mournful  song  broke  the  stillness  of  a 
hot  July  afternoon,  and  caused  two  pedestrians  to 
come  to  a  halt  in  a  lane  on  which  dust  lay  thick. 

On  either  side  were  high  banks,  surmounted  by 
undipped  hedges. 

One  of  the  pedestrians,  a  young  and  athletic  man, 
had  climbed  the  bank  nearer  to  him  in  a  second, 
and  was  peering  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  where 
nothing  met  his  gaze  but  miles  of  smiling  country, 
dotted  by  farms  at  long  intervals,  a  bungalow  covered 
with  rambler  roses,  and  a  white  house  on  the  border 
of  a  wood. 

"Can  you  see  anybody,  sir?"  asked  the  man  in 
the  lane,  who  was  dressed  as  a  farmer. 

The  weird  singing  rose  again. 

"I  should  take  it  for  a  sea-gull,  sir,"  said  the 
puzzled  farmer,  "except  that  we  are  a  good  five 
miles  from  the  sea  here." 

The  young  man  sprang  back  into  the  lane,  causing 
a  cloud  of  white  dust  to  rise.  His  clean-shaven  face 
had  a  troubled  expression. 

"It  sounded  to  me  like  a  woman  chanting  a 
dirge." 

7 


8  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  expect  it  is  some  rascal  of  a  boy  amusing  him- 
self," said  the  farmer  reassuringly.  "A  most  unholy 
noise  to  make,  I  call  it." 

He  looked  uneasily  at  his  companion.  If  Mr. 
Barrimore  were  a  nervous  sort  of  man  he  might  not 
take  the  bungalow,  and  the  farmer  wanted  to  let  it. 

The  bungalow  looked  lovely  now,  covered  by  roses, 
but  it  was  undeniably  lonely  at  any  time,  and  in 
winter  desolate  enough.  He  followed  up  his  re- 
mark : 

"If  you  come  to  live  in  the  country,  Mr.  Barrimore, 
you  will  have  to  get  used  to  queer  noises.  The  owls 
at  night  hoot,  and  the  way  they  breathe  would  almost 
make  you  believe  it  was  a  human  being.  But  you 
soon  get  to  take  no  heed  to  country  sounds.  If  book- 
writing  is  your  trade,  you  couldn't  find  a  better  place 
to  carry  it  on  in  than  my  bungalow.  Wonderfully 
pretty  it  looks  now,  with  the  roses  out.  We  shall  be 
coming  to  it  at  the  turn  of  the  road." 

"I  saw  it  just  now,  Mr.  Pickett,  from  the  top  of 
the  bank,"  said  Barrimore.  "It  looked  charming. 
But  I  can't  get  that  sad  singing  out  of  my  head.  It 
was  to  me  a  heart-break  set  to  music.  But" — 
(Barrimore  smiled,  and  for  the  first  time  his  com- 
panion noted  that  the  young  man  was  good-looking) — 
"but  authors  are  imaginative,  and  I  am  willing  to 
accept  your  view  of  the  case.  You  seem  to  think  I 
am  nervous!"  (He  smiled  again.)  "But  I  have 
never  had  that  character.  Here  we  are!" 

On  the  right  stood  the  big  red-tiled  bungalow,  with 
its  white  verandah  and  its  wealth  of  red  rambler 
roses. 

Pickett  jingled  a  bunch  of  keys  as  he  approached 
the  padlocked  gate. 

"You  see,  sir,  that  the  garden  is  in  good  order," 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 


he  remarked,  as  he  unfastened  the  gate.  "And  the 
water  in  the  well  is  beautiful,  and  cold  as  can  be, 
even  this  weather.  The  painter-chap  who  built  it 
spared  no  expense,  and  there's  flooring  put  down  in 
yonder  clear  space  for  a  stable,  if  you  should  like  me 
to  put  one  up,  which  I  will  do,  if  you  take  the  bun- 
galow for  three  years." 

"I  think  I  can  promise  to  do  that  if  I  like  the  place," 
said  Barrimore  rather  absently.  "One  can  always 
shut  it  up,  you  know." 

Pickett  stared.  He  could  not  understand  the  waste- 
fulness suggested  by  the  idea  of  paying  rent  and 
shutting  up  the  place.  However,  it  was  all  right  so 
far  as  he  personally  was  concerned,  and  this  well- 
dressed  young  man,  who  carried  a  gold  cigar-case, 
had  probably  a  big  banking  account. 

The  interior  of  the  bungalow  turned  out  to  be 
ideal.  There  were  six  rooms  in  all — two  reception- 
rooms,  three  bedrooms  and  a  kitchen.  The  scheme  of 
decoration  was  charming,  and  had  evidently  been 
carefully  thought  out  by  the  "painter-chap"  Pickett 
had  referred  to. 

Above  all,  there  was  a  splendid  bathroom. 

This  last  item  decided  Barrimore  to  take  the  bun- 
galow. To  him  who  revelled  in  a  cold  morning  tub 
it  was  of  no  consequence  that  there  was  no  means  of 
heating  the  bath. 

"You  may  start  on  the  stable  as  soon  as  you  like," 
he  said  to  the  delighted  farmer.  "I  shall  come  in 
with  a  manservant  next  week.  I  suppose  I  can  put 
up  a  saddle-horse  at  your  farm  till  the  stable  is  ready  ? 
I  shall  need  to  ride  into  Hastings  frequently  at  first." 

"Oh,  certainly,  sir.  I  have  plenty  of  stable  room," 
responded  Pickett. 

While  the  farmer  was  locking  the  door,  Barrimore, 


io  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

took  out  a  penknife  and  cut  some  roses  to  take  back 
for  his  mother,  who  loved  little  attentions. 

"Poor  old  mummy!"  he  said  to  himself.  "She 
is  a  bit  sore  about  my  wanting  to  be  away  from 
home,  but  I  can't  stand  Uncle  Robert's  quotations!" 

Barrimore  had  walked  the  whole  five  miles  from 
Hastings  to  Pickett's  Farm  at  Gissing,  having  seen 
an  advertisement  of  the  bungalow,  and  he  was  going 
to  walk  the  whole  distance  back,  to  get  rid  of  the 
irritability  caused  by  Uncle  Robert's  quotations. 

Uncle  Robert  was  his  mother's  brother,  and  had 
been  christened  Robert  because  his  surname  was 
Burns,  and  he  had  evidently  conceived  the  idea  that 
the  mantle  of  the  poet  after  whom  he  was  named 
had  descended  upon  him.  He  read  incessantly,  and 
remembered  all  he  read.  It  was  not  his  fault  if 
everyone  else  did  not  remember  it  also.  He  also 
wrote  verse. 

Uncle  Robert  had  made  his  home  with  his .  sister 
since  she  had  been  a  widow,  and  Philip  Barrimore, 
who  had  taken  up  literature  as  a  career,  found  at 
last  that  home  was  an  impossible  place  to  work  in. 

If  Uncle  Robert  was  a  nuisance,  he  was  sublimely 
ignorant  of  the  fact.  He  was  of  a  singularly  cheerful 
disposition,  and  it  was  impossible  to  ruffle  his  sweet 
temper.  Even  this  last  fact  was  an  annoyance  to 
Barrimore,  for  had  Uncle  Robert  fired  up  occasion- 
ally, his  nephew  would  have  felt  less  of  a  pig  (as  he 
expressed  it)  in  snubbing  him. 

Mrs.  Barrimore,  a  sweet  little  woman,  over 
forty,  and  looking  less,  had  been  much  exercised  in 
spirit  to  keep  her  idolized  and  only  son  from  wounding 
her  idolized  and  only  brother;  hence,  she  had  con- 
sented to  Philip's  plan  of  getting  a  little  place  in  the 
country  to  work  in.  He  would  be  near  enough  for 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  n 

frequent  visits,  and  would  have  the  conditions  he 
craved  for  his  work. 

Nevertheless,  she  felt  sad  that  he  should  not  reside 
under  her  roof. 

Barrimore  reached  the  West  Hill  at  Hastings  as  the 
sun  was  setting.  The  sky  was  flooded  with  exquisite 
color.  The  sea,  calm  and  unruffled,  and  of  a  lovely 
blue,  was  dotted  over  with  sailing  craft. 

It  was  low  tide,  and  within  the  harbor  (so  called, 
though  it  had  never  been  completed)  little  naked  boys 
ran,  throwing  pink  reflections  on  the  wet  sand,  while 
fishermen  lounged  against  their  boats,  which  they 
would  soon  be  getting  ready  for  the  night's  work. 

"I  shall  miss  the  sea,"  thought  Barrimore  regret- 
fully ;  "but,  after  all,  I  can  soon  ride  in  from  Gissing." 

Before  making  his  way  to  Hawk's  Nest  (his  mother's 
house),  which  was  situated  near  the  Alexandra  Park, 
he  walked  across  the  hill  to  the  point  where  the  en- 
trance to  St.  Clement's  Caves  is  situated,  and  looked 
down  at  the  old  town,  with  its  quaint  red-roofed 
houses,  and  then  across  to  the  little  churchyard  of 
All  Saints  on  the  slope  of  the  East  Hill. 

As  his  eyes  rested  on  this  churchyard  they  sud- 
denly dimmed. 

Under  a  white  cross,  like  one  he  now  saw,  rested 
the  woman  he  had  loved.  Woman?  E/weretta  Alvin 
had  been  but  a  girl  when  she  had  suddenly  ceased  to 
be,  and  his  heart  lay  buried  with  her  away  in  Canada. 

At  five-and-twenty  Barrimore  had  vowed  himself 
to  bachelorhood,  which  was  his  only  point  of  re- 
semblance to  his  Uncle  Robert  Burns. 

Never  again  would  he  love,  he  told  himself,  for  which 
reason  he  allowed  himself  a  certain  freedom  with  the 
women- folk  who  gathered  about  his  mother.  Some 
of  these  were  pretty  girls,  too,  and  charming  enough 


12  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

to  stir  any  ordinary  man's  pulses.     Phyllis  Lane,  for 
instance,  was  bewitching,  if  not  exactly  pretty. 

Barrimore  suddenly  remembered  that  on  this 
particular  day  there  had  been  a  garden-party  at  his 
mother's,  and  Phyllis  and  her  father,  Colonel  Lane, 
were  staying  on  to  dinner.  He  must  hurry  or  he 
would  be  late. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   CONFESSION 

"WELL,  Philip,  what  about  the  bungalow?"  asked 
Uncle  Robert,  as  Barrimore  entered  the  dining-room, 
where  all  the  others  were  already  seated. 

Barrimore  was  flushed  and  cross,  owing  to  a  struggle 
with  his  collar. 

"I  have  taken  it  for  three  years,"  answered  the 
young  man,  going  round  to  greet  his  mother's  guests 
before  taking  his  place  at  table. 

"Ah,  well,"  rejoined  Uncle  Robert,  beaming. 
"Dryden  says :  'There  is  a  pleasure  sure  in  being 
mad,  which  none  but  madmen  know.'  'The  Spanish 
Friar'  it  occurs  in,  I  believe.  It  is  a  mad  act  going 
to  live  alone  in  the  country,  but  no  doubt  you  will 
find  a  pleasure  that  we  know  not  of. 

"Mr.  Barrimore  won't  get  interrupted  at  his  work, 
and  that  will  be  a  pleasure,"  put  in  Phyllis  Lane, 
darting  a  bright  glance  at  Philip,  whose  seat  was 
next  to  hers. 

"What  is  the  new  book  to  be  about?"  inquired 
the  Colonel,  "if  it  is  not  a  crime  to  ask." 

"I  scarcely  know  myself  yet,"  replied  Barrimore. 
"My  stories  grow  under  my  pen.  None  of  my  stories 
turn  out  what  I  expected  at  first." 

'  'Invention  breeds  invention,'  as  Emerson  says," 
chimed  in  Uncle  Robert.  "Ideas  are  like  yeast, 
and  multiply  before  your  eyes." 

13 


i4  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Mine  don't,"  retorted  Philip  crossly.  "I  have 
been  in  a  blind  alley  for  a  week  or  more." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore  cheer- 
fully. "You  have  got  your  bungalow,  so  you  will 
have  peace  and  quietness.  But  we  shall  miss  you. 
We  did  to-day,  didn't  we,  Phyllis?" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  turned  her  sweet  eyes  on  the  girl 
at  her  son's  side.  Phyllis  was  fresh  as  a  flower. 

"We  did  miss  you,"  Phyllis  admitted,  with  another 
bright  glance  at  Philip.  "But  Mr.  Burns  played 
tennis  in  your  place." 

Her  face  broke  into  roguish  dimples  and  her  eyes 
danced. 

That  Phyllis  was  making  fun  of  Uncle  Robert  was 
patent  to  everyone — to  Uncle  Robert  himself  even. 
It  was  not  her  words,  but  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  uttered.  But  only  one  person  noted  that  Mrs. 
Barrimore's  sweet  mouth  grew  a  little  rigid,  while 
her  eyes,  usually  so  dove-like,  had  for  a  moment 
sparks  of  angry  fire  in  their  clear  grey — and  that 
person  was  Colonel  Lane;  but  he  had  a  way  of 
noting  every  transient  expression  that  changed  for  a 
moment  the  habitual  sweetness  and  gentleness  of 
that  particular  face.  The  mother  of  Phyllis  had 
not  been  sweet  or  gentle,  and  her  death,  some  years 
since,  had  brought  the  first  lull  in  the  turmoil  of 
Colonel  Lane's  life. 

"Miss  Phyllis  is  getting  at  me,"  observed  Uncle 
Robert,  with  perfect  good  humor.  "Horace  says: 
'The  years,  as  they  come,  bring  with  them  many 
things  to  our  advantage.'  They  also  sometimes  bring 
an  overplus  of  fat!  Beware,  Miss  Phyllis!  One 
day  you  may  have  a  double  chin !" 

He  hitched  his  falling  table-napkin  into  his  capa- 
cious waistcoat.  Uncle  Robert  was  certainly  stout. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  15 

"I  think  it  was  very  sweet  of  my  brother  to  play 
tennis  on  this  hot  day,  rather  than  let  the  game  fall 
through,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore,  with  an  affectionate 
glance  at  Uncle  Robert. 

"I  am  sure  Mr.  Burns  played  very  well,"  Phyllis 
hastened  to  say,  feeling  that  Mrs.  Barrimore,  of 
whom  she  was  very  fond,  was  angry  with  her. 

"My  dear  little  girl,"  said  Uncle  Robert,  "I  know 
I  look  like  an  exaggerated  tennis  ball  myself,  and 
if  I  amuse  you  by  my  antics,  so  much  the  better. 
There  is  no  duty  we  so  much  under-rate  as  the  duty 
of  being  happy;  Stevenson  says  that.  Be  happy, 
my  dear,  even  if  laughing  at  me  makes  you  so!" 

"Oh,  but  I  wasn't  laughing  at  you,  Mr.  Burns," 
protested  Phyllis.  "I  admired  your  pluck  in  playing 
on  such  a  roasting  day — and  you  are  a  little  stout, 
you  know." 

Phyllis  spoke  so  seriously  that  everyone  laughed 
except  her  father.  Colonel  Lane  frowned.  He 
thought  his  daughter's  allusion  to  the  stoutness  of 
Mr.  Burns  in  bad  taste,  and  meant  to  tell  her  so  when 
they  should  be  alone. 

"Tell  us  about  the  bungalow,  Philip,"  said  Mrs. 
Barrimore,  to  change  the  conversation.  (She  had 
caught  sight  of  the  Colonel's  frown.) 

"It  is  a  jolly  little  place,"  said  Philip;  "covered 
with  rambler  roses.  I  brought  you  some.  There 
are  no  houses  near — not  very  near.  The  nearest  has 
a  big  field  between  it  and  the  bungalow.  There  is  a 
fir  plantation  in  front,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
They  are  going  to  build  me  a  stable,  and  I  shall 
hire  a  horse  from  Dick  Russel,  so  that  I  can  ride  over 
and  see  you.  Yes,  I  shall  hire  it.  I  don't  mean  to 
buy  another  now  poor  Jingo  is  dead.  I  can't  bring 
myself  to  replace  an  old  favorite." 


16  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

The  mother  looked  at  her  son  with  critical  sadness. 
She  was  thinking  of  Eweretta  in  her  grave  in  Canada. 
She  did  want  him  to  replace  Eweretta — and  Phyllis 
was  a  charming  girl. 

Certainly,  Captain  Arbuthnot  paid  a  good  deal  of 
court  to  Phyllis,  but  it  -was  inconceivable  to  Mrs. 
Barrimore  that  Phyllis  could  prefer  anyone  to  Philip. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  saw  in  Phyllis  a  good,  dutiful  and 
very  charming  wife,  suitable  in  every  way  to  this  son 
of  hers.  Phyllis  might  not  be  decidedly  pretty,  but 
she  was  very  good-looking;  and,  what  counted  for 
more,  was  quite  above  deception  of  any  kind.  She 
was  the  kind  of  "open"  girl  one  could  read  like  a 
book. 

So  thought  Mrs.  Barrimore. 

It  was  after  dinner,  in  the  sweet,  old-fashioned 
garden,  that  a  conversation  took  place  between  Philip 
and  Phyllis,  which,  had  Mrs.  Barrimore  heard  it, 
would  have  shaken  her  faith  in  judgment  of  character 
for  ever. 

Philip  had  gone  out  to  smoke  on  the  croquet  lawn 
— a  lawn  raised  above  the  rest  of  the  garden  and  having 
great  veteran  oaks  at  one  end,  and  banks  of  flowers 
on  either  side  that  smelt  deliciously.  A  hammock 
was  slung  under  one  of  the  oaks,  and  Philip  was  about 
to  get  into  it  and  enjoy  his  cigar,  while  Colonel  Lane 
and  Uncle  Robert  finished  their  wine,  when  a  white- 
clad  figure  ran  down  the  rustic  steps  that  led  from  the 
terrace  under  the  drawing-room  windows  to  the  lawn. 

Philip  walked  back  to  meet  Phyllis,  who  ran  lightly 
over  the  soft  turf. 

"I  do  want  a  talk  with  you,  Philip,"  she  said 
breathlessly.  "I  am  just  bursting  with  something 
I  can  tell  no  one  but  you." 

The  moon  lit  her  eager  face  as  she  looked  up  at  him, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  17 

and  he  saw  that  her  news,  whatever  it  might  be,  was 
at  least  very  important  to  her. 

"I  am  honored,  Miss  Lane,"  he  told  her,  smiling. 
"What  is  the  great  secret?" 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  you  won't  be  angry  and  scold  me! 
You  must  be  my  friend  and  pacify  father!" 

She  linked  her  arm  in  his  confidingly. 

"We  are  such  old  friends,  you  and  I,  you  know,"  she 
went  on,  "and  now  it  is  all  over  I  feel  so  frightened !" 

"Well,  tell  me  this  dreadful  thing  you  have  done," 
he  said,  laughing  a  little  at  her  earnestness,  for  he  did 
not  expect  any  very  important  revelation  to  follow. 

"You  know  father  refused  to  let  me  marry  Captain 
Arbuthnot?" 

She  paused. 

"You  want  me  to  plead  for  you,  little  Phyllis,  I 
suppose?"  he  said. 

"/  am  married,"  she  answered  tragically.  "That's 
it!  and  now  I've  told  you." 

Barrimore  looked  grave  enough  now. 

"I  would  not  have  believed  this  of  Arbuthnot," 
was  what  he  said.  "When  did  this  happen  ?" 

"The  day  before  yesterday,  early  in  the  morning, 
at  St.  Clement's  Church.  Charlie  got  a  special 
license.  I  came  back  to  breakfast  as  usual." 

She  looked  very  appealing  and  very  childish  in  her 
simple  white  frock,  Barrimore  thought,  and  very 
sweet  too.  But  he  was  angry  with  her,  all  the  same. 
She  -was  twenty-one,  though  she  only  looked  sixteen. 

Phyllis  was  quick  to  note  the  change  in  the  young 
man's  tone. 

"Now  look  here!"  she  said.  "Father  would  not 
consent  even  to  an  engagement.  Charlie  and  I  love 
one  another,  and  he  was  told  he  had  to  go  right  off 
to  India.  He  sailed  yesterday"  (there  was  a  catch 


i8  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

in  her  voice  here) — "some  outbreak  among  natives 
in  some  hole-and-corner  place,  and  Charlie  knew  the 
language,  and  that  was  why  he  was  sent.  Now, 
what  could  we  do  but  make  sure  of  each  other? 
It  wasn't  all  roses  to  part  at  the  church  door,  was 
it?  And  we  don't  know  in  the  very  least  when  we 
shall  meet  again." 

"And  you  want  me  to  break  this  to  Colonel  Lane?" 
he  answered. 

"Oh,  no!  no!  no!"  she  repeated.  "I  want  you 
to  pacify  him,  if  he  finds  out." 

"But  surely  you  are  not  going  to  keep  this  a 
secret?"  he  asked  reprovingly. 

"I  am,"  she  anwered,  "if  I  can." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  the  old  uncle  (or  aunt)  of  Charlie  may 
die  at  any  time,  and  he  is  to  have  all  the  money; 
and  it  was  chiefly  because  Charlie  had  only  his  pay 
that  father  objected.  He  won't  make  half  the  fuss 
if  Charlie  has  that  money.  But  if  father  finds  out, 
promise  me  to  take  my  part." 

Barrimore  could  do  no  less  than  give  the  promise, 
though  he  disliked  the  idea  exceedingly. 

He  blamed  Captain  Arbuthnot  most,  but  he  could 
not  consider  Phyllis  blameless.  Surely  some  other 
way  could  have  been  found  by  the  lovers  out  of  their 
difficulty,  considering  the  self-sacrificing  devotion  of 
the  old  Colonel,  who  had  been  both  father  and  mother 
to  his  child  since  his  wife's  death. 

"I  will  be  your  advocate,  Phyllis,"  Barrimore  told 
her  reluctantly.  "But  you  must  not  suppose  that 
I  approve  of  this  business,  and  I  consider  that  you 
ought  to  tell  your  father  at  once.  I  think  it  was  not 
worthy  of  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier  to  have  proposed 
a  clandestine  marriage  to  you." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  19 

"But  Charlie  didn't  propose  it,"  announced  Phyllis. 
"It  was  I  who  did  that.  I  told  him  I  would  be  mar- 
ried to  him  before  he  went  away,  and  I  told  you  that 
father  wouldn't  allow  even  an  engagement.  Father 
said  that  I  might  be  twenty-one,  but  that  I  was  a 
child,  all  the  same,  and  that  I  should  change  my  mind, 
and  that  I  must  not  be  bound.  But  I  knew  all  the 
time  that  it  was  money  he  was  thinking  of,  so  I 
begged  and  prayed  of  Charlie  to  marry  me  and  make 
sure,  and  I  told  him  father  would  come  around  all 
right  after.  And,  you  know,  Charlie  is  most  awfully 
fond  of  me,  and  I  can  turn  him  round  my  finger. 
But  he  didn't  like  marrying  that  way.  He  didn't 
think  it  straightforward,  which  is  nonsense;  for  all's 
fair  in  love  and  war.  So  I  told  him  if  he  didn't  get 
the  license  and  marry  me  at  St.  Clement's  before 
breakfast,  I  would  never  marry  him  at  all.  That 
did  it." 

She  paused  for  breath. 

Barrimore  glanced  over  her  head  towards  the  draw- 
ing-room windows,  and  saw  Colonel  Lane  and  Uncle 
Robert  making  their  way  along  the  terrace  to  join  his 
mother.  She — simple  soul  that  she  was — had  been 
watching  the  young  people  on  the  lawn  furtively. 
Hopes  were  rising.  Her  Philip  was  so  young  to  have 
his  heart  buried  with  Eweretta  in  Canada. 

"We  must  go  in  now,"  said  Barrimore.  "Your 
father  and  my  uncle  are  gone  to  the  drawing-room." 

Uncle  Robert's  voice  reached  them  where  they 
stood. 

"Ah,  yes,  Colonel,  as  Granville  says: 
"Oh,  Love!  thou  bane  of  the  most  generous  souls, 

Thou  doubtful  pleasure,  and  thou  certain  pain." 

And  Barrimore  thought  his  uncle's  quotation  sin- 
gularly appropriate. 


CHAPTER  III 

AN   ALARMING   SUGGESTION 

THE  quotation  Uncle  Robert  made,  and  which  was 
overheard  by  Philip  in  the  garden,  was  a  wind-up  to  a 
conversation  relative  to  Phyllis  and  Captain  Arbuthnot. 

Colonel  Lane  had  been  confiding  in  Mr.  Burns, 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  give  the  gist  of 
their  conversation,  as  it  bears  upon  the  disclosures 
of  the  foregoing  chapter. 

As  soon  as  Philip,  refusing  wine,  had  sallied  forth 
to  smoke  in  the  garden,  Colonel  Lane  began  to  open  his 
heart — part  of  it,  at  least;  there  was  another  part 
where  a  very  tender  secret  lay  hidden — to  his  friend. 

"You  have  heard,  of  course,  Burns,  that  Arbuth- 
not has  been  ordered  to  India?  It  is  a  mighty  relief 
to  me,  for  my  little  girl  was  clamoring  to  become 
engaged  to  him.  That  is  saved,  at  any  rate." 

"But,  surely,  Colonel,  you  can't  object  to  Arbuth- 
not!" exclaimed  Uncle  Robert;  "a  gentleman  and 
a  fine  soldier." 

"That  is  just  it,"  rejoined  the  Colonel.  "Arbuth- 
not is  all  that,  and  I  have  a  deep  regard  for  him.  But 
Phyllis  has  had  many  fancies  before,  and  will  have 
many  to  come.  She  is  a  darling  girl,  but  I  fear  she 
is  very  changeable.  She  thinks  herself  greatly  in 
love  with  Arbuthnot  to-day.  To-morrow,  more  likely 
than  not,  she  will  think  herself  equally  in  love  with 
someone  else.  She  is  not  exactly  a  coquette,  but 
she  imagines  herself  to  feel  deeply,  when  she  gets  a 

20 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  21 

surface  impression.  I  want  her  to  become  more 
stable  before  she  unites  herself  to  a  man  with  the 
chance  of  spoiling  both  their  lives.  It  is  very  hard, 
Burns,  to  have  to  be  both  father  and  mother  to  a 
wilful  girl!  However,  this  particular  situation  is 
saved  for  the  moment.  Arbuthnot  will  be  away  for 
some  time,  and  Phyllis  may,  in  the  meantime,  grow 
older,  and  get  to  know  her  own  mind,  I  hope." 

Glancing  through  the  window  at  this  point,  the 
Colonel  caught  sight  of  a  white  figure  crossing  the 
lawn,  and  smiled  a  little  grimly. 

"Women  are  strange  creatures,  Burns,"  he  said; 
"I  can't  understand  them!  A  battalion  of  men  is 
more  easily  managed  than  one  woman!" 

"Opinions  differ,  however,"  said  Uncle  Robert. 
"Chaucer  says,  'Ther  can  no  man  in  humblesse 
him  acquite  as  woman  can,  ne  can  be  half  so  trewe  as 
woman  ben,'  while  Robert  Burns  calls  her  'dear, 
deluding  woman.' ' 

"You,  of  course,  take  Burns's  view,"  said  the 
Colonel  laughing. 

Robert  Burns  the  second  did  not  see  the  joke.  He 
answered  quite  seriously. 

"No,  I  don't  take  Burns's  view,"  he  said  seriously. 
"I  have  a  sister  who  is  above  rubies — a  woman  who  is 
a  sweetener  of  life." 

The  Colonel  grew  serious.  "By  Gad!  you  are 
right,  Burns!  Mrs.  Barrimore  keeps  my  faith  in 
woman  from  crumbling  to  dust.  How  sweet  and 
girlish  she  looked  at  dinner  to-night !  It  seems  absurd 
that  she  should  be  Philip's  mother.  Philip  looks  the 
older  of  the  two.  I  think,  between  you  and  me, 
that  it  is  a  little  too  bad  of  Philip  to  go  away  to  that 
bungalow.  Mrs.  Barrimore  feels  it,  I  could  see, 
even  while  she  tried  to  show  interest  in  it  to-night." 


22  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"You  will  scarcely  believe  it,  Colonel,"  broke  out 
Uncle  Robert,  "but  Philip  says  my  quotations  have 
driven  him  away." 

"You  do  quote  a  lot,  you  know,"  the  Colonel  told 
him  laughing;  "and  authors  are  proverbially 
irritable." 

"  They  damn  those  authors  whom  they  never 
read,'  "  said  Uncle  Robert.  "That  is  from  Churchill, 
and  is  to  be  found  in  The  Candidate.'  I  told  Philip 
so  this  morning;  I  had  quoted  Chaucer,  and  Philip 
had  said,  with  more  vigor  than  politeness,  'Damn 
Chaucer!'  Now  Philip  never  reads  Chaucer — never 
has,  I  should  say.  In  my  young  days  young  men  read 
standard  works,  and  digested  them.  Nowadays  they 
read  fiction." 

Colonel  Lane  stifled  a  yawn,  and  once  more  looked 
through  the  window  at  his  daughter,  now  in  earnest 
conversation  with  Philip  Barrimore. 

Uncle  Robert's  eyes  followed  his  friend's. 

"Doesn't  your  little  Phyllis  appear  to  be  on  very 
confidential  terms  with  our  boy  to-night?"  he 
observed. 

"Yes,  she  does,"  answered  the  Colonel  brusquely. 
"She  will  be  in  love  with  him  next — to  his  undoing!" 

Then  had  followed  the  quotation  overheard  by 
young  Barrimore. 

"Oh,  Love!  thou  bane  of  the  most  generous  souls, 
Thou  doiibtjul  pleasure,  and  thou  certain  pain." 

Phyllis  Lane  was  a  good  actress — what  woman  is 
not?  To  judge  from  her  gay  attitude  as  she  entered 
Mrs.  Barrimore's  drawing-room,  one  would  never 
have  imagined  that  she  was  a  bride  of  a  few  hours, 
with  her  bridegroom  speeding  away  to  India. 

The  pink  lamp-shade  shed  a  warm  glow  over  the 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  23 

pretty  low-ceilinged  room  which  was  heavy  with 
the  scent  of  pink  carnations — Mrs.  Barrimore's 
favorite  flower.  Mrs.  Barrimore  wore  some  of  them 
pinned  into  the  lace  of  her  pearl-grey  evening  dress, 
and  the  color  was  faintly  repeated  in  her  cheeks. 
She  had  the  complexion  of  a  girl  in  her  teens,  and  her 
slightly  waving  nut-brown  hair  was  without  a  silver 
streak. 

Her  figure  was  softly  rounded  and  slim  as  it  had 
been  at  twenty.  As  Colonel  Lane  had  said,  she 
looked  a  girl,  despite  her  over  forty  years. 

She  was  sitting  among  the  amber  cushions  on  her 
favorite  Chesterfield,  where  Colonel  Lane  joined 
her. 

A  band  struck  up  a  gay  waltz  in  Alexandra  Park. 
Mrs.  Barrimore's  grey  eyes  brightened.  "I  love 
a  band,"  she  said.  "There  is  a  fete  in  the  park  to- 
night, I  can  see  the  illuminations  through  the  trees. 
How  that  music  makes  one  wish  to  dance!  Do  you 
know,  Colonel,  I  can't  help  forgetting  that  I  am 
middle-aged.  Philip  is  sometimes  a  little  shocked,  I 
think.  He  thinks  me  quite  old,  and  only  to-day  said, 
'Mother,  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  wear  a  bonnet?' 
I  began  to  think  that  perhaps  I  ought.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  me  before." 

"Bonnet!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "It  would 
be  ridiculous.  You  would  look  really  odd  in  one, 
with  your  face  and  figure.  Philip  has  some  very 
foolish  ideas.  That  bungalow,  for  instance.  I  under- 
stand that  he  is  going  to  live  there  with  a  man- 
servant." 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  pink  deepened  to  carnation  in  her 
cheeks. 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand,"  she  said,  up  in  arms  at 
once  in  defence  of  her  boy.  "Philip  wants  solitude — 


24  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

he  needs  it  to  write  his  books.  He  can't  get  it  here. 
Dear  Robert  won't  leave  him  alone.  Young  people, 
even  the  best,  find  it  difficult  to  put  up  with  the 
peculiarities  of  older  folk.  It  is  later  on  that  the 
once  young  look  back,  and  love  these  same  older 
folk  for  these  same  peculiarities.  It  is  all  the  same 
annoyance  with  old  folks  and  infants,  and  I  remember 
myself  how  angry  it  used  to  make  me  when  Philip — 
he  was  little  Philly  then — left  his  sticky  finger- 
prints on  the  window-glass — and  now  that  my  baby 
is  a  man,  I  would  give — oh,  what  would  I  not  give ! — 
to  see  those  sticky  finger-prints  again !" 

Colonel  Lane  saw  the  tender  eyes  grow  bright  with 
unshed  tears. 

He  cleared  his  throat. 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said;  "the 
man  just  arrived  at  maturity  neither  makes  allow- 
ances for  those  older  or  younger  than  himself.  It  is 
the  conceit  that  covers  the  just-grown-up  as  with  a 
garment.  But  it  is  a  garment  which  soon  grows  too 
small  for  a  man  with  a  fine  nature — luckily.  Philip 
is  centered  in  his  work  at  present,  and  all  outside  it 
is  of  but  little  importance.  He  is  made  of  such  good 
stuff,  however,  that  it  will  not  take  long  for  him  to 
look  with  different  eyes  on  things  outside  him- 
self." 

"We  must  remember,  too,  that  Philip  has  had  a 
great  sorrow,"  Mrs.  Barrimore  reminded  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  her  companion.  "An 
inward  pain  such  as  his  can't  fail  to  make  him  exag- 
gerate annoyances.  Do  you  think  he  is  getting  over 
it,  dear  Mrs.  Barrimore?" 

"I  fear  not,"  she  answered;  "but  it  all  happened 
only  a  year  ago,  you  see.  Philip  wants  to  find  out 
Eweretta's  half-sister,  and  help  her." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  25 

"Half-sister?"  repeated  the  Colonel.  "Had  Miss, 
Alvin  a  half-sister,  then?" 

"Yes,  it  is  a  very  sad  story.  Aimee  Le  Breton 
was  not  legitimate.  She  was  the  living  image  of 
Eweretta,  and  both  girls  were  the  image  of  their 
father,  and  nearly  the  same  age.  The  poor  girl  was 
weak-minded,  so  it  was  said,  and  lived  with  her 
mother  at  Qu'Appelle,  in  Canada.  They  have  gone 
away  no  one  seems  to  know  where.  Mr.  Alvin  left 
everything  to  Eweretta,  and  not  a  penny  to  Aimee  or 
her  mother.  Eweretta  died  suddenly  at  Mrs.  Le 
Breton's  house.  She  had  gone  over  to  Qu'Appelle 
to  tell  Aimee  she  should  share  with  her — and  she 
died  of  heart  disease,  so  it  was  said.  She  was  buried 
before  Philip  heard  a  word." 

"And  what  became  of  the  money?"  demanded  the 
Colonel  rather  sharply. 

"John  Alvin's  brother  Thomas  came  into  it.  It 
was  willed  so.  If  Eweretta  died  unmarried,  Thomas 
was  to  take  all." 

"My'dear  Mrs.  Barrimore,"  said  the  Colonel,  "this 
is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  this  amazing  story.  Up 
to  now  I  have  only  heard  that  Miss  Alvin  died.  What 
kind  of  a  man  was  Thomas  Alvin?" 

"He  had  always  been  unlucky,  I  know  that," 
replied  Mrs.  Barrimore.  "He  was  a  thirteenth  son, 
and  the  only  one  who  survived  John.  He  failed  in 
everything  he  touched,  and  was  known  as  'The 
Thirteenth  Man.'  I  have  heard  that  men  sometimes 
refused  to  work  with  him  for  fear  he  should  bring 
them  ill-luck.  And  now  you  know  all  I  know." 

The  Colonel  looked  steadily  out  of  the  window 
at  the  lights  in  Alexandra  Park  that  twinkled  tnrough 
the  trees  for  some  moments  in  silence.  Then  he 
brought  his  eyes  back  to  his  companion's  face. 


26  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"So  Eweretta's  death  was  worth  thirty  thousand 
pounds  to  this  unlucky  thirteenth  man!" 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  eyes  took  a  look  of  horror. 

"Colonel!  you  don't  mean — you  can't  mean  that 
Thomas  Alvin — oh !  for  God's  sake  don't  say  a  word 
to  Philip.  It  would  drive  him  mad !" 

Phyllis  had  struck  a  few  chords  on  the  piano. 
Philip  was  standing  near  the  instrument  ready  to 
turn  the  pages  of  a  song  she  was  about  to  sing. 

Uncle  Robert  had  impolitely  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

"Forgive  me!"  whispered  the  Colonel.  "It  was  a 
foolish  remark  of  mine.  Of  course,  I  shall  say 
nothing  to  Philip.  You  look  quite  pale !  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself  for  expressing  that  thought  aloud. 
Won't  you  come  out  on  the  terrace?  The  cool  air 
will  do  you  good.  Oh,  what  a  blunderer  I  am !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  smiled  bravely  and  rose.  "Yes,  I 
should  like  to  get  into  the  air,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    COMPLICATION 

THE  morning  following  the  events  of  the  last  chapter, 
Philip  was  taking  an  early  breakfast  alone,  pre- 
paratory to  going  into  Robertson  Street  in  quest  of 
furniture  for  the  bungalow.  He  was  regretting  that 
his  purse  was  not  longer.  His  mother's  income  was 
not  considerable  either,  for  which  reason  Mr.  Burns 
had  elected  to  make  one  of  the  household,  to  give 
him  the  excuse  to  argument  his  sister's  income.  (The 
excuse  he  gave  was  his  loneliness.) 

Philip  had  artistic  tastes,  and  he  would  have  liked 
to  make  the  bungalow  something  unique.  He  liked 
to  write  amid  perfect  surroundings,  for  his  work  was 
beautiful  work — too  beautiful  to  pay  well — and  he 
had  an  idea  that  surroundings  influenced  him  a  great 
deal  when  he  wrote. 

The  windows  of  the  room  in  which  he  sat  were  open, 
and  sweet  scents  from  the  garden  filled  the  air. 

All  at  once  he  caught  sight  of  Uncle  Robert  coming 
from  the  gate,  hatless,  and  with  a  big  towel  round  his 
neck. 

He  was  returning  from  his  customary  swim. 

He  hailed  his  nephew  joyously : 

"The  water  is  fine  this  morning,  Phil!  Why  don't 
you  go  for  a  swim  like  me?" 

"Not  fond  of  it,  uncle,"  replied  Philip  a  little 
curtly. 

Uncle  Robert  came  in  at  the  window  and  poured 

27 


28  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

himself  out  a  cup  of  coffee,  upsetting  it  on  the  white 
cloth,  to  his  nephew's  annoyance,  and  adding  to  his 
iniquities  by  dabbing  it  up  with  the  table-napkin  Philip 
had  just  laid  down. 

Really,  Uncle  Robert's  ways  were  a  constant  irrita- 
tion to  Philip. 

"Why  not  ring  for  one  of  the  servants  to  put  that 
right?"  Philip  remarked. 

"Never  give  others  a  thing  to  do  when  you  can  do 
it  yourself,"  replied  Mr.  Burns,  drinking  off  his 
coffee  at  a  single  gulp.  "And,  by  the  way,  Philip,  I 
want  to  have  a  hand  in  this  furnishing  of  yours." 

Philip  broke  into  a  smile.  Uncle  Robert's  taste 
was  too  awful  to  bear  thinking  of. 

"Thank  you,  uncle,"  he  said;  "but,  you  know,  I 
just  want  to  follow  my  own  fancies  in  this." 

"Of  course,  of  course,  Philip!  I  know  I  should  be 
of  no  use  in  choosing  your  gimcracks.  What  I  meant 
[was,  that  I  wrote  out  a  check  for  a  hundred  pounds 
for  you  before  I  went  out.  It  will  help  you  to  have 
things  you  fancy." 

Philip's  usually  pale  face  became  scarlet  with  shame. 

How  he  snubbed  this  uncle,  how  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  irritated  with  him  and  his  ways!  Yet 
Uncle  Robert  never  resented  it,  and  was  always  good- 
humored  and  kindly. 

This  generous  gift  covered  the  young  man  with 
confusion. 

"I  don't  deserve  your  kindness,  Uncle  Robert,"  he 
broke  out  impulsively.  "I  am  always  surly  with  you, 
and  you  are  always  kind.  I  feel  ashamed  of  myself, 
and  I  may  as  well  own  it.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  you 
I  am  taking  myself  off !" 

"They  say  biting  and  scratching  is  Scotch  folks' 
wooing,"  laughed  Uncle  Robert;  "and  if  you  do 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  29 

sometimes  drop  on  me  like  a  thousand  of  bricks,  you 
are  fond  of  your  old  uncle,  all  the  same,  and  he  knows 
it!  Why,  bless  my  soul!  I  want  taking  down  a  peg 
or  two  sometimes.  It  is  good  for  me!" 

"I  want  taking  down  a  good  many  pegs!"  ac- 
knowledged Philip  humbly. 

He  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of  himself  just  at  this 
moment. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Barrimore  appeared,  looking  very 
girlish,  in  a  muslin  morning-gown,  which  had  sprigs 
of  lavender  upon  a  white  ground. 

Philip  rose  and  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  when  she 
was  seated,  leaned  over  and  kissed  her. 

"You  have  a  new  dress  on,  mother,"  he  remarked. 
"It  is  very  pretty — but — isn't  it  a  bit  young  for  the 
mother  of  a  big  son  like  me?" 

He  spoke  with  gentle  raillery,  but  the  mother  was 
a  little  hurt. 

"Do  you  really  think  that,  Philip?"  she  asked 
anxiously.  "I  told  Colonel  Lane  last  night  that 
you  thought  I  ought  not  to  wear  hats.  He  thought  it 
nonsense." 

"Don't  you  attend  to  Philip's  foolish  remarks, 
Annie,"  put  in  Uncle  Robert.  "A  woman  is  as  young 
as  she  looks — and  you  look  about  five-and-twenty." 

"I  can't  help  looking  young,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore 
apologetically. 

"You  ought  not  to  want  to  help  it,"  Uncle  Robert 
told  her. 

"She  doesn't! — do  you,  mummy?"  laughed  Philip, 
looking  with  affection  at  the  delicate  face  blushing  so 
rosily. 

The  advent  of  letters  covered  •  Mrs.  Barrimore's 
confusion.  One  was  for  Philip.  He  scrutinized  the 
handwriting  with  an  odd  expression  on  his  face. 


3o  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

At  last  he  said:  "If  I  did  not  know  Dan  Webster 
so  well,  I  should  imagine  he  had  been  drinking !  Look 
at  the  unsteady,  wavering  writing,  mother!" 

"Yes,  it  is  unsteady,"  she  answered.  "Open  it, 
Philip.  Perhaps  he  is  ill." 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  the  young  man,  as  he  read  the 
opening  passage.  "Poor  Dan!" 

"What  is  it?"  came  from  Mrs.  Barrimore  and 
uncle  in  a  duet. 

"His  eyes  have  gone  wrong.  He  is  to  do  no  paint- 
ing for  a  long  time.  He  is  down  in  the  depths,"  said 
Philip.  "Poor  Dan!  and  his  people,  who  have  never 
approved  of  his  taking  up  art  as  a  profession,  say  it 
is  a  judgment  on  him !  He  says  there  is  no  reason  to 
fear  loss  of  sight  if  he  follows  the  doctor's  directions 
rigidly.  It  is  necessary  to  take  entire  rest,  and  till  the 
inflammation  is  subdued  he  must  wear  a  green  shade. 
He  has  unfortunately  very  little  money,  but,  all  the 
same,  he  says  he  shall  take  a  room  somewhere  to  be 
away  from  nagging  and  reproaches." 

Uncle  Robert  jumped  up  and  knocked  over  his  cup 
(just  replenished  by  his  sister).  "Why  can't  he  come 
here?"  he  inquired., 

"There  will  be  Philip's  room,"  added  Mrs.  Barri- 
more. "I  will  write  to-day  and  ask  him.  The  garden 
is  so  restful,  and  he  can  walk  on  the  sea-front  with 
you,  Robert,  and  sit  and  listen  to  the  band." 

"And  I  can  read  to  him,"  rejoined  Uncle  Robert. 
"I  shall  go  out  and  telegraph." 

He  was  marching  off  through  the  window  to  carry 
out  his  project  when  his  nephew  reminded  him  that 
he  was  wearing  no  collar. 

"'A  sweet  disorder  in  the  dress,'  eh? — as  Herrick 
puts  it,"  said  Uncle  Robert.  "I  can  send  a  wire  with- 
out the  aid  of  a  collar." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  31 

With  that  he  departed. 

"What  a  brick  Uncle  Robert  is!"  commented 
Philip,  as  the  bulky  form  disappeared,  "and  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  intolerance,  mother!  Do  you  know, 
he  is  giving  me  a  hundred  pounds  for  furnishing?" 

"I  am  not  surprised,  Philip,  at  any  generous  act 
from  your  uncle.  He  will  take  Dan  completely  under 
his  wing,  you  will  see,  and  will  commission  all  our 
portraits,  I  expect,  as  soon  as  Dan's  eyes  are  well." 

"Well,  mother,  Dan  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  a 
handsome  one,  too;  and,  mark  my  word,  some  old 
lady  whose  portrait  he  paints  will  one  day  leave  him 
a  fortune." 

"I  only  hope  so,"  smiled  the  mother.  "And  now, 
I  suppose  you  will  want  to  be  off  on  your  shopping 
expedition.  By  the  way,  there  is  a  lovely  old  oak 
dresser  for  sale  in  a  shop  in  High  Street — in  the  Old 
Town,  you  know.  The  shop  is  not  far  from  St.  Cle- 
ment's Church — a  secondhand  shop,  of  course.  You 
will  know  it  by  a  big  horse  painted  up  on  the  side. 
You  might  look  at  the  dresser.  Also,  they  have  a 
dear  old  grandfather  clock,  and  you  said  you  wanted 
one.  I  should  like  to  go  with  you  to  see  the  bun- 
galow." f 

"So  you  shall,  mother,"  said  Philip,  rising.  "But 
let  me  get  it  in  order  first." 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  tender  mouth  quivered.  She  so 
much  wanted  to  do  the  "putting  in  order"  herself  for 
her  boy.  But  he  had  his  own  ideas,  and  she  tactfully 
said  nothing  of  her  disappointment. 

Philip  hurried  off  and  caught  a  tram  to  the  Memo- 
rial, from  the  top  of  which  he  beheld  Uncle  Robert 
coming  back,  puffing  and  blowing,  from  the  General 
Post  Office.  His  face  was  red  and  beaming  from 
pleasant  thoughts. 


32  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

In  Robertson  Street  Philip  encountered  Phyllis, 
looking  like  a  flower  in  her  white  frock  and  blue 
ribbons. 

"I  have  been  shopping  early,  Philip,"  she  said, 
smiling  up  at  him.  "I  am  going  to  Fairlight  Glen 
to  a  picnic  this  afternoon,  and  I  had  to  get  a  new 
parasol  to  match  my  dress.  I  wish  you  were  going! 
Oh,  father  was  so  horrid  about  Captain  Arbuthnot 
going  home  last  night!  I  do  hope  he  doesn't  find 
out!  But  no  one  knows  but  you,  and  you  won't 
tell." 

"What  about  the  clergyman  who  married  you?" 
asked  Philip. 

"He  was  a  stranger — taking  duty,  and  you  know 
that  father  goes  to  Blacklands  Church,  though  St. 
Clement's  is  our  parish.  But  I  must  go.  I  have  lots 
of  things  to  do." 

Philip  watched  her  as  she  tripped  away  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  his  heart  misgave  him.  There  was  trouble 
in  store  for  little  Phyllis  he  felt  sure — and  possibly 
for  Arbuthnot.  What  a  fool  Arbuthnot  had  shown 
himself ! 

But  then! — a  man  in  love — what  will  he  not  do? 
Had  Eweretta  lived,  would  he  not  have  been  as  wax 
in  her  dear  little  brown  hands? 

The  thought  of  those  brown  hands  brought  a  mist 
before  his  eyes.  He  saw  her  before  him  in  all  her 
young,  joyous  beauty.  The  rich  coloring  on  her  sun- 
kissed  face ;  the  dark  masses  of  her  hair ;  her  wonder- 
ful dark  eyes.  He  had  been  wont  to  call  her  his 
prairie  flower. 

He  had  a  wild  longing  to  see  her  half-sister,  whom 
he  had  heard  so  exactly  resembled  her.  He  would  be 
kind  to  Aimee  Le  Breton  for  her  sake.  But  should 
he  ever  find  her?  She  had  disappeared  from  Qu' 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  33 

Appelle  so  completely.  Philip,  as  he  walked  towards 
the  "Old  Town,"  had  an  odd  feeling  of  being  outside 
life.  His  life  seemed  to  be  ended,  while  he  still  re- 
mained to  haunt  the  places  where  he  had  formerly 
lived.  Reality  seemed  to  have  given  place  to  some- 
thing dreamlike.  Outwardly  he  was  the  same  Philip, 
except  that  he  was  graver.  But  inwardly  he  felt  him- 
self a  sort  of  ghost,  that  took  part  in  a  life  in  which 
it  had  no  real  place. 

He  was  really  keen  about  the  bungalow.  He 
wanted  to  drown  himself  in  work.  Work  was  the 
only  real  panacea  when  the  heart  sorrowed.  He  did 
not  wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve,  however,  not  being 
built  that  way. 

As  he  was  passing  the  two  yachts  (known  as  the 
Albertines),  he  was  suddenly  accosted  by  Colonel 
Lane. 

"Have  you  seen  Phyllis?"  demanded  the  Colonel. 
"An  old  flame  of  hers — Herbert  Langridge — has  just 
turned  up  unexpectedly.  He  is  staying  at  the 
'Albany.'  Should  not  wonder  if  he  is  come  to  try  his 
luck  once  more !" 

"I  just  left  her  in  Robertson  Street,"  answered 
Philip,  who  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable. 

"Oh,  well,  I  will  go  in  pursuit,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"Langridge  is  going  to  lunch  with  us.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  see  her  settle  down 
in  that  quarter.  He'd  keep  her  in  order!  Good- 
bye!" 

"Here  is  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish!"  muttered  Philip, 
as  he  strode  on. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  WOMAN'S  HONOR 

"PHYLLIS,  if  you  are  as  good  a  walker  as  you  used  to 
be,  won't  you  go  to  Fairlight  Glen  by  the  East  Hill 
with  me?  We  could  start  directly  after  luncheon, 
and  get  to  the  Glen  as  soon  as  the  others." 

Mr.  Herbert  Langridge,  who  had  been  persuaded 
by  Colonel  Lane  to  join  the  picnic,  saw  a  chance  in 
this  proposal  of  an  hour  or  two  in  which  to  have  the 
object  of  his  desire  to  himself,  and  Colonel  Lane  had 
been  quite  right  in  supposing  that  this  young  man 
had  come  to  Hastings  with  the  set  purpose  of  getting 
.Phyllis  to  reconsider  a  former  unfavorable  decision. 

Phyllis,  who  knew  that  things  had  happened  which 
rendered  that  former  decision  final,  and  seeing  no 
reason  at  all  why  she  should  not  listen  to  pretty  com- 
pliments for  an  hour,  consented. 

Colonel  Lane  was  pleased. 

Langridge  had  a  snug  post  in  the  War  Office,  and 
would  some  day  have  a  really  good  pension.  It 
would  be  a  relief  to  have  Phyllis  settled.  Moreover, 
Colonel  Lane  had  plans  of  his  own  which  the  mar- 
riage of  Phyllis  would  to  his  mind  make  easier. 

The  three  were  walking  on  the  sea-front  near  the 
band-stand,  for  Colonel  Lane  had  captured  Phyllis 
at  the  shop  of  Plummer  Roddis,  and  had  carried  her 
off  to  the  "Albany,"  where  Langridge  had  been  wait- 
ing in  the  covered  space  outside,  where  lounge  chairs 
are  placed. 

34 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  35 

"I  would  much  rather  walk  than  ride,"  Phyllis 
affirmed. 

"Good,"  said  Langridge.  "We  will  start  early, 
and  not  walk  too  fast  in  this  heat." 

"Luncheon  is  at  one  sharp,"  put  in  the  Colonel. 

"That  will  give  us  good  time,"  Phyllis  said. 

"And,  remember,  you  both  dine  with  me  at  the 
'Albany'  to-night,"  Langridge  reminded  her. 

"How  delightful!"  cried  Phyllis.  "I  love  dining 
at  hotels." 

Phyllis  was  certainly  disposed  to  be  very  agreeable, 
Langridge  thought,  and  he  regarded  it  as  a  hopeful 
sign. 

Phyllis,  hugging  her  secret,  and  feeling  very  im- 
portant, as  being  a  married  woman — also,  it  must 
be  owned,  struggling  against  a  depression  which  she 
.must  hide — not  a  very  deep  depression  certainly, 
for  Phyllis  had  but  a  shallow  nature — but  depression, 
all  the  same;  she  craved  excitement  and  entertain- 
ment to  make  her  forget  it.  Langridge  promised  to 
be  entertaining.  He  was  very  much  in  love,  and  men 
in  love  were  always  fun. 

To  Phyllis  the  situation  was  most  romantic ! 

Colonel  Lane  had  anv  old-fashioned  house,  with 
a  garden,  not  far  from  St.  Clement's  Church,  chosen 
because  it  was  roomy  and  cheap;  and  the  garden 
having  a  high  wall  round  it  made  a  target  possible, 
and  the  Colonel  could  amuse  himself  with  his  rifle. 

In  this  garden  a  year  ago  Phyllis  had  refused  Lang- 
ridge's  offer  of  marriage.  (She  had  refused  other 
men  in  this  garden  too.) 

Langridge  considered  the  garden  unlucky,  and 
meant  to  try  his  luck  in  a  fresh  place  next  time.  The 
East  Hill  was  the  spot  in  his  mind. 

After  luncheon  Phyllis,  looking  very  bewitching  in 


36  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

her  picnic  garb,  set  forth  with  her  unfortunate  victim 
gaily  enough. 

"She  isn't  fretting  after  Arbuthnot,"  commented 
her  father,  as  he  watched  her  go.  "It  is  to  be  hoped 
he  is  not  fretting  either." 

The  sea  was  a  glorious  blue.  The  hot  sun  was 
tempered  by  a  playful  breeze. 

Langridge  felt  buoyant. 

"Do  you  know,  Phyllis,  I  have  done  nothing  but 
think  of  you  the  whole  year,"  he  told  her. 

"I  was  sure  you  didn't  work  much  at  the  War 
Office,"  she  flung  at  him  saucily. 

He  laughed,  but  he  was  not  altogether  pleased. 
He  did  not  want  to  lose  time  in  banter.  He  was  very 
much  in  earnest. 

"We  will  not  talk  of  the  War  Office  now,  Phyllis," 
he  told  her.  "I  have  left  the  War  Office  alone  for  a 
while." 

"How  glad  it  must  be!"  she  said,  with  a  roguish, 
sidelong  glance  at  him. 

"Would  you  be  glad  if  I  left  you  alone?"  he  asked 
her.  "Have  you  been  glad  all  the  year  because  I  did 
not  come  near  you,  or  write?" 

"I  don't  think  I  thought  about  it  at  all,"  she  said 
aggravatingly. 

"Well,  think  now.  I  shall  not  come  back  again  if 
you  say  'No'  a  second  time." 

He  was  very  grave  now,  and  there  was  something 
in  his  voice  that  suggested  smoldering  wrath. 

"Now  you  are  cross,"  she  said,  pouting.  "You 
have  asked  me  nothing  to  say  'Yes'  or  'No'  to." 

"You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean,  Phyllis. 
You  know  why  I  have  come  to  Hastings — why  I 
asked  you  to  walk  with  me  to  the  Glen,  instead  of 
riding  with  the  others.  You  know  that  I  have  come 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  37 

expressly  to  ask  you  again  if  you  will  be  my 
wife." 

They  had  come  to  a  standstill  and  were  looking  out 
over  the  sea.  She  .watched  a  couple  of  white-winged 
yachts,  coquetting,  as  it  seemed,  like  butterflies. 

"Are  they  not  lovely?"  she  asked,  pointing  at  the 
yachts. 

Langridge  took  the  wrist  of  her  extended  arm  al- 
most roughly. 

"Phyllis  once  and  for  all,  will  you  marry  me?" 

"I  can't,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him  with  wide, 
innocent  eyes.  "And  I  am  glad  I  can't,  because  you 
have  such  a  temper!" 

"Why  can't  you  ?"  he  demanded,  ignoring  the  latter 
part  of  her  remark. 

"Because  I  can't." 

"That  is  no  answer." 

"I  can't  really!"  she  affirmed. 

"Why  did  you  consent  to  walk  with  me  this  after- 
noon, then?"  he  asked  in  an  injured  tone.  "You 
seemed  quite  glad  to  come,  and  now — " 

"Yes,  I  was  glad.  I  thought  you  would  be 
amusing,  but  you  are  not — no,  not  one  bit.  You  are 
simply  horrid.  If  that  is  your  idea  of  making 
love—" 

"Be  nice  to  me  as  you  were  when  we  were  in 
London,  and  you  shall  see  if  I  can  make  love  to  your 
satisfaction." 

"But  you  musn't  make  love  to  me." 

"Why  mustn't  I  ?    You  did  not  say  that  once !" 

"I  say  it  now." 

He  did  not  believe  her.  He  thought  her  attitude 
mere  coquetry.  She  must  have  known  why  he  wanted 
to  be  alone  with  her,  and  she  had  come  willingly 
enough. 


38  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Phyllis?"  he  repeated.  "You 
know  how  I  love  you." 

"I  can't." 

"Then  tell  me  why." 

She  felt  cornered." 

"Will  you  promise  me  never  to  tell  a  soul  if  I 
do?" 

He  promised  readily  enough.  He  must  know  her 
objection  before  he  could  overrule  it. 

She  drew  her  small  figure  up  with  an  air  of  great 
importance. 

"I  am  married,"  she  said. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  scarcely  believing  his 
ears. 

"Yes,  I  was  secretly  married  to  Captain  Arbuthnot 
before  he  sailed,"  she  told  him.  "You  see,  father 
would  not  give  his  consent — so — we  did  it.  Now 
are  you  satisfied  ?" 

Satisfied!     He  was  filled  with  indignation. 

"And  knowing  that,  you  allowed  me  to  propose  to 
you,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"I  could  not  help  your  being  silly,"  she  said,  shut- 
ting her  new  pink  parasol  with  a  snap. 

"You  made  a  fool  of  me,  Miss  Lane — I  beg  your 
pardon ! — Mrs.  Arbuthnot." 

"Oh!  don't  call  me  that!"  she  said  with  a  light 
laugh.  "You  will  forget  and  do  it  before  people,  and 
we  don't  want  anyone  to  know  till — till  Captain 
Arbuthnot  comes  into  some  money.  Mind !  you  have 
promised  not  to  tell !" 

Herbert  Langridge  eyed  the  girl  with  something 
like  consternation.  He,  like  Mrs.  Barrimore,  had 
thought  her  a  frank,  innocent  child,  incapable  of 
anything  underhand.  He  had  known  she  was  a 
flirt — who  did  not?  but  he  had  thought  that  it  was 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  39 

mere  childish,  light-hearted  coquetry;  now  he  thought 
differently. 

He  avoided  all  names  now  in  speaking  to  her.  He 
also  increased  the  distance  between  them. 

"You  have  done  a  very  wrong  thing,"  he  told 
her,  conscious  that  his  words  were  very  inadequate. 
"It  will  be  a  great  grief  to  your  father  to  find — as  he 
will  have  to  find  sometime — that  his  only  child  has 
deliberately  deceived  him.  He  does  not  deserve 
this  treatment  at  your  hands.  He  has  been  mother 
and  father  to  you,  and  has  devoted  himself  to  you 
most  unselfishly.  If  he  refused  to  sanction  your  en- 
gagement with  Captain  Arbuthnot,  it  was  for  some 
good  reason." 

"Perhaps  you  think  you  were  the  good  reason!" 
Phyllis  exclaimed  angrily.  "I  daresay  you  and 
father  were  in  league  together!  You  call  me  under- 
hand, and  I  daresay  you  and  father  have  been  schem- 
ing in  an  underhand  way  to  get  me  to  marry  you." 

"Your  father  and  I  have  neither  met  nor  cor- 
responded since  last  year,"  he  replied,  his  face  set 
sternly. 

"Well,  anyway,  you  have  no  right  to  lecture  me! 
I  think  you  are  perfectly — yes,  perfectly  horrid! 
and  I  wish  Charlie  was  here — I  do!"  (Charlie  was 
Captain  Arbuthnot.) 

"Well,  since  he  is  not  here,  I  advise  you  to  be  a 
little  more  careful  in  your  treatment  of  other  men," 
he  reminded  her. 

She  turned  on  him  fiercely.  "If  you  mean  I  am 
not  to  flirt  I  can  tell  you  I  shall.  I  told  Charlie  so 
before  he  went.  He  didn't  mind  and  I  shall  do  it 
all  the  more  for  your  lecturing  me,  so  there !  I  wonder 
you  can  be  so  unkind  when  you  pretend  you  are  in 
love  with  me  yourself!" 


40  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"We  will  not  refer  to  that  again,  please.  That  is 
done  with,"  he  said  coldly. 

At  this  point  Phyllis  began  to  cry. 

Langridge  walked  on  at  her  side  and  ignored  the 
tears. 

"I  think  you  might  try  to  comfort  me  a  little," 
sobbed  Phyllis,  "and  my  husband  gone  away  miles 
and  miles,  for  years  and  years  most  likely." 

"No,  thank  you!  Comforting  other  men's  wives 
isn't  in  my  line,"  he  told  her.  "And  I  wouldn't  make 
my  eyes  red,  if  I  were  you,  to  excite  comment." 

Phyllis,  noting  by  the  unsympathetic  tone  of  her 
companion's  voice  that  her  tears  were  unavailing, 
dried  her  eyes  instantly. 

It  was  quite  true,  red  eyes  would  excite  comment. 
Moreover  (and  this  was  far  more  important),  her 
appearance  would  suffer. 

"What  about  to-night?"  she  asked,  after  an  interval 
in  which  they  had  silently  walked  on. 

"You  and  your  father  dine  with  me  at  the 
'Albany,'  "  he  answered  coldly. 

"Now?"  she  inquired  incredulously. 

"Why  not?"  he  answered. 

It  was  quite  clear  to  Phyllis  now  that  Langridge 
had  no  idea  of  playing  the  doleful  rejected  lover. 
He  would  just  blot  out  this  afternoon's  episode,  and 
go  on  as  if  it  had  never  occurred. 

That  was  precisely  what  Langridge  intended 
to  do. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   THIRTEENTH    MAN 

ON  the  day  of  the  picnic  Philip  Barrimore  hired  a 
horse  and  rode  over  to  Gissing.  He  had  arranged  for 
the  bulk  of  his  furniture  to  be  delivered  at  the 
bungalow  that  evening,  and  had  sent  on  his  man- 
servant, Davis,  with  a  load  of  provisions,  and  to  see  a 
supply  of  coal  got  in. 

Philip  went  first  to  the  farm  where  his  horse  was 
to  be  stabled,  and  was  met  by  Pickett,  who  had  come 
from  the  hayfield  to  get  some  tea,  which  he  hospitably 
asked  Mr.  Barrimore  to  share.  Philip  accepted  the 
invitation  gladly  enough.  He  was  hot  and  thirsty. 

Mrs.  Pickett — a  comely  matron  with  a  jolly,  red 
face — and  Minnie,  her  buxom  daughter,  were  already 
at  table  when  Philip  came  in.  They  rose  at  once  and 
bade  him  welcome,  the  mother  placing  a  chair  for  him, 
while  Minnie  .went  to  the  big  dresser  for  another  cup 
and  saucer. 

Philip  glanced  round  the  big  "house-place"  with 
keen  interest.  It  was  the  kind  of  fascinating  room 
he  had  read  of  but  never  seen  before.  The  floor  was 
flagged,  the  windows  small,  with  leaded  panes,  and 
rows  of  geraniums  on  the  sills.  Hams  and  flitches  of 
bacon  hung  from  the  heavy  oak  beams  in  company 
with  herbs  and  strings  of  onions.  Bright  copper 
utensils  hung  on  the  walls,  where  also  was  an  old 
warming-pan.  There  was  a  tall  grandfather  clock — 


42  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

much  older  and  handsomer  than  the  one  Philip  had 
purchased  that  morning  in  High  Street.  The  dresser ! 
How  Philip  would  have  liked  that  dresser,  and  all  the 
array  of  earthenware  upon  it! 

All  the  furniture  was  of  oak,  and  had,  Mr.  Pickett 
told  Philip,  been  there  for  two  hundred  years. 

"I  wish  you  would  let  me  bring  an  artist  friend 
of  mine  to  look  at  this  place,"  Philip  said  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Glad  to  see  him  any  time  you  like,  sir,"  replied 
the  farmer.  "That  painter-chap  that  built  the  bun- 
galow went  wild  about  our  things.  He  wanted  to 
buy  that  old  chest  over  against  the  far  window,  but 
we  can't  part,  sir!  Those  bits  of  things  are  part  of 
the  family — my  great-grandfather  put  them  here." 

"I  quite  understand  your  feeling,  Pickett,"  agreed 
Barrimore,  taking  the  cup  of  tea  Mrs.  Pickett  handed 
to  him,  and  pouring  rich  cream  into  it. 

"By  the  way,  sir,"  Pickett  next  remarked,  "do  you 
remember  a  queer  sound  we  heard?  You  thought  it 
singing." 

"Yes,  have  you  found  out  anything  about  it?"  in- 
quired Philip,  with  sudden  interest. 

"I  think  the  man  owning  the  White  House  (I  forget 
his  name)  must  keep  wild  animals,  for  he  has  had 
the  little  wood,  which  you  may  have  noticed  is  close 
to  the  house,  wired  in,  ten  feet  high.  I  never  saw 
such  a  thing  in  my  life.  It  is  small  mesh  wire-netting 
he  has  used,  and  barbed  wire  is  put  on  it  in  rows 
fairly  close  together.  My  cowman  says  this  man  is 
building  something  in  the  wood,  for  loads  of  brick 
have  been  delivered." 

"A  private  menagerie,  I  expect,"  said  Philip. 
"Who  and  what  is  the  man?  He  will  be  my  nearest 
neighbor." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  43 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Pickett,  "though  I  did 
hear  his  name.  He  is  rich,  I  should  think,  for  he 
bought  the  White  House  and  the  wood  at  a  big  price, 
and  he  does  nothing,  so  far  as  I  know,  for  a  living. 
There  is  a  woman  and  her  daughter  with  him,  but 
they  never  seem  to  go  out.  They  are  very  close  sort 
of  people,  and  the  servants  they  brought  with  them 
from  Canada  are  as  close  as  the  master." 

"Canada?  Did  they  come  from  Canada?"  ex- 
claimed Philip. 

"I  heard  so,  sir." 

Mrs.  Pickett  here  spoke. 

"I  heard  this  morning,  sir,  that  the  poor  young 
lady  is  not  quite  right  in  her  head,  and  that  is  why 
they  keep  to  themselves.  It  was  the  agent  who  sold 
the  house  to  them  told  me  that." 

"Good  God !"  cried  Philip.  "I  believe  I  know  who 
these  people  are.  Is  the  name  Alvin?" 

"That's  it,  right  enough,  sir,"  said  the  farmer; 
"and  I  remember  now  that  the  lady  is  called  Brittain, 
or  some  such  name." 

"Le  Breton,"  corrected  Philip. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  was  that.  How  queer  that  you  should 
know  about  them." 

Philip's  face  had  paled,  and  they  all  observed  the 
fact,  though  no  one  commented  upon  it. 

"I  knew  relatives  of  theirs  who  are  now  dead," 
said  Philip.  "I  shall  call  on  them." 

It  was  as  much  as  Philip  could  do  to  sit  till  the 
meal  finished.  He  wanted  to  start  there  and  then  to 
look  on  this  living  image  of  his  lost  Eweretta. 

He  excused  himself  as  soon  as  he  could  and  set  out 
across  the  fields  to  the  White  House  dazzling  now  in 
the  light  of  the  sun. 

As  he  walked,  he  reproached  himself  for  having  so 


44  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

readily  credited  the  evil  he  had  heard  spoken  of  "The 
Thirteenth  Man." 

He  had  come  into  poor  Eweretta's  money,  and  he 
had  tried  to  undo  the  injustice  of  his  brother  regard- 
ing Mrs.  Le  Breton  and  her  ill-fated  child.  He  had 
brought  them  to  his  new  English  home  to  share  the 
fortune.  He  had  condemned  himself  for  their  sake  to 
this  solitary  life. 

Strange,  indeed,  that  he,  Philip,  should  have  come 
to  their  very  gates  to  live!  From  the  bungalow  he 
could  see  the  White  House  lights  at  night.  Curiously 
enough,  as  he  remembered  this  he  took  a  sorrowful 
pleasure  in  the  fact. 

Aimee  Le  Breton — poor,  afflicted  Aimee  Le  Breton 
— was,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  the  last  bit  left  to  him  of 
the  one  he  had  so  adored. 

To  show  this  girl  some  kindness  would  be  like 
putting  flowers  on  that  grave  far  away  at  Qu'Appelle. 

But  Philip  was  not  prepared  for  the  shock  he  was 
to  receive  when  he  beheld  the  appalling  likeness  of 
Aimee  to  Eweretta. 

The  gardens  of  the  White  House  were  large  and 
well  kept. 

Philip,  who  loved  this  type  of  old-world  garden, 
paused  at  the  gate  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  it. 

It  was  there  he  saw  her. 

She  was  wandering,  a  drooping  and  infinitely  sad 
figure,  between  the  rows  of  high  flox. 

Her  head  was  bent,  and  her  slim  hands — brown  as 
Eweretta's  had  been — were  clasped  together. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up,  saw  him,  and  uttered  a 
wild  cry,  falling  prone  upon  the  ground. 

Philip  grasped  the  iron  gate,  shook  it  violently  in 
a  vain  effort  to  open  it. 

It  was  locked. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  45 

He  saw  a  woman  come  out  and  carry  off  the  girl 
in  her  arms  like  an  infant. 

It  was  then  that  Thomas  Alvin  came  down  the 
garden  path,  a  key  in  his  hand. 

He  apologized  for  the  locked  gate,  explaining  that 
his  poor  niece  was  afflicted,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
secure  her  within  the  grounds. 

"I  fear  I  alarmed  her,"  said  Philip  in  troubled  tones, 
as  Mr.  Alvin  unlocked  the  gate. 

"She  is  always  afraid  on  seeing  a  stranger/'  said 
Alvin.  "You  are  Mr.  Bruce,  I  suppose,  from  Her- 
rickers  ?" 

"No,  I  am  Philip  Barrimore,'*  replied  the  young  man. 

Alvin  started  and  paled,  but  soon  recovering  him- 
self said :  "I  have  heard  of  you,  of  course.  You  were 
to  have  married  my  poor  niece  Eweretta.  Come 
in." 

Alvin  unlocked  the  gate  and  led  Philip  into  the 
house.  The  room  they  entered  was  a  well-appointed 
dining-room. 

"I  have  been  trying  hard  to  find  you,  Mr.  Alvin," 
said  Philip,  as  he  seated  himself.  "And  now  chance 
has  brought  me  to  you." 

"I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you  any  more  than  I  wrote 
you,  Mr.  Barrimore,  about  Eweretta.  It  was  heart- 
disease  she  died  of.  No  one  suspected  her  to  have  it. 
Aimee,  as  I  told  you,  had  a  fit  while  Eweretta  was  near 
her.  The  doctor  put  down  her  death  to  fright." 

"We  will  not  speak  of  that,  Mr.  Alvin,"  said  Philip 
from  behind  closed  teeth.  "I  am  anxious  to  do  some- 
thing for  Aimee  Le  Breton  for  her  sister's  sake.  It 
is  for  that  I  have  searched  for  her  in  Canada." 

Mr.  Alvin  answered  with  extreme  coldness. 

"You  apparently  overlook  the  fact,  Mr.  Barrimore, 
that  I  have  given  a  home — a  good  home,  too" — (with 


46  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

a  wave  of  his  hand  round  the  apartment) — "to  both 
Aimee  and  her  mother.  Aimee  needs  nothing.  She 
was  poor  enough  before  I  took  her.  Her  mother 
mended  shoes  for  a  living." 

"I  don't  mean  that  kind  of  help,"  Philip  hastened 
to  explain.  "I  want  to  brighten  her  life.  Couldn't 
I  take  her  for  a  drive  sometimes  with  her  mother. 
I  could  easily  arrange  it." 

"I  have  plenty  of  money  for  drives  if  the  women 
desire  it,"  replied  Alvin  rather  rudely. 

Yes,  he  had  come  into  Eweretta's  money ! 

"It  is  a  novel  sensation  for  me,"  went  on  Alvin. 
"I  was  a  thirteenth  son,  and  born  unlucky.  I  was 
known  in  Canada  as  The  Thirteenth  Man,'  and 
many  refused  to  work  with  me  because  of  my  ill- 
luck — which  they  said  was  catching!  Well,  my  luck 
has  changed  at  last,  and,  by  gad!  I  mean  to  keep 
what  I've  got!" 

Philip  stared.  He  could  not  in  the  least  under- 
stand this  outburst.  It  was  almost  as  if  the  man 
fancied  he,  Philip,  wanted  to  rob  him. 

"I  thank  you  for  this  call,  Mr.  Barrimore — which, 
all  the  same,  I  think  rather  interfering — but  I  must 
ask  you  not  to  repeat  it.  We  have  come  here  to  be 
quiet  and  to  ourselves." 

"And  can't  I  see  Miss  Le  Breton?"  asked  Philip, 
deeply  disappointed. 

"It  could  only  make  you  wretched,"  replied  the 
other.  "Aimee  is,  as  you  know,  exactly  like  her 
sister.  Moreover,  ever  since  Eweretta's  sudden  death 
she  has  got  a  delusion  that  she  is  Eweretta,  and 
engaged  to  marry  you.  She  is  always  raving  about 
you." 

"She  has  never  seen  me  till  this  morning,"  said 
Philip. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  47 

"You  are  mistaken;  she  has  seen  you  when  you 
were  in  Canada,  though  you  never  saw  her." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Philip  unbelievingly. 

"A  good  many  things  are  strange  in  this  world, 
young  man,"  said  Alvin  with  a  queer  laugh.  "And 
now  I  think  we  have  no  more  to  say  to  each  other, 
and  I  will  let  you  out." 

This  was  dismissal. 

As  Philip  skirted  the  garden  wall  he  glanced  at  an 
upper  window  and  caught  sight  of  a  woman's  face. 
It  was  one  of  the  most  miserable  faces  he  had  ever 
seen. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    PRISONER 

THE  owner  of  the  miserable  face  came  downstairs 
after  watching  Philip  Barrimore's  departure  and 
joined  Thomas  Alvin  in  the  dining-room. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  we  have  walked  into  a 
lion's  jaws,"  remarked  the  man,  pouring  out  a  wine- 
glass of  brandy  and  gulping  it  down.  "That  man 
who  called  is  Philip  Barrimore,  and  he  is  come  to  live 
near  us." 

"We  must  go  away,"  said  the  woman.  "We  must 
go  at  once." 

"What  a  fool  you  are!"  thundered  Alvin.  "That 
would  excite  suspicion.  We  must  just  stand  our 
ground.  No  one  can  disprove  our  statements — and 
the  girl  looks  mad  enough  to  convince  anyone." 

"But  she  has  seen  him!  She  is  frantic.  She  will 
escape  to  get  to  him,  and  we  shall  be  ruined!"  cried 
Mrs.  Le  Breton.  "I  wish  to  God  I  had  never  con- 
sented to  do  this  thing!  I  might  have  known  ill  luck 
would  follow  me,  mixing  myself  up  with  The  Thir- 
teenth Man !' " 

"Let  me  hear  no  more  of  that  hateful  nickname," 
he  said.  "I  left  that  behind  me  in  Canada." 

"But  not  your  ill-luck,"  she  reminded  him. 

"Look  here,  woman!"  rejoined  Alvin.  "It  was 
a  pretty  lucky  thing  for  you  that  you  let  me  know 
that  that  girl  of  yours  was  dying,  and  I  took  Eweretta 
to  see  her.  By  making  Eweretta  take  the  dead  girl's 

48 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  49 

place  you  came  into  comfort.  No  one  doubted  that 
Eweretta  lay  in  the  coffin  that  went  to  the  grave, 
and  no  one  doubted  that  the  girl  we  took  away  with 
us  was  Aimee.  We  kept  her  well  drugged  so  she 
couldn't  enlighten  them.  I  came  into  the  fortune 
which  was  hers  under  her  father's  will,  and  you  and 
she  share  it.  She  passes  as  your  dead  daughter,  and 
always  will,  if  you  don't  play  the  fool.  Have  you 
given  her  a  dose?" 

"She  won't  take  it.  I  have  locked  her  in  her  room. 
I  wish  you  would  go  to  her." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  shout  so,  the  servants  will 
hear  you.  I  am  always  afraid  you  will  lead  them  to 
suspect  something  by  your  tomfoolery." 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  bit  her  lips  with  anger.     She  was 
still    a    handsome    woman,    though    her    expression 
spoiled  her. 
'Alvin  went  on. 

"Didn't  you  often  tell  me  you  would  give  any- 
thing to  have  revenge  on  my  brother?  What  better 
revenge  could  you  have  than  you've  got?" 

In  the  room  to  which  Mrs.  Le  Breton  had  alluded 
Eweretta  lay  upon  her  face  sobbing  wildly. 

She  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  as  her  uncle 
entered.  She  stood  up  and  faced  him. 

"Uncle,  uncle!"  she  pleaded,  lifting  an  agonized 
face  to  his.  "Keep  all  the  money;  I  don't  want  it! 
But  let  me  go  to  him !" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  the  man 
viciously.  "You  are  mad!  mad,  do  you  hear?  You 
are  mad,  Aimee  Le  Breton !  What  does  he  want  with 
you?" 

Eweretta's  spirit  had  not  been  quite  broken  by  the 
treatment  she  had  received,  though  she  was  weakened 
by  drugs  and  unhappiness. 


50  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

There  was  now  a  dangerous  flash  in  the  dark  eyes, 
as  of  an  animal  at  bay. 

"Do  you  think  to  persuade  me  to  believe  the  lie 
you  have  invented?"  she  asked  with  fine  scorn. 
"You  and  that  woman  have  done  your  best  to  de- 
prive me  of  reason;  but  you  have  not  succeeded. 
What  have  I  ever  done  that  you  should  so  torture 
me?  I  have  told  you  that  you  can  take  the  money. 
I  will  never  claim  one  penny  of  it.  But  give  me  my 
liberty!" 

"A  likely  thing  that !"  laughed  Alvin,  "and  lay  my- 
self open  to  your  revenge !" 

"Ah!"  she  mocked;  "what  revenge  could  poor 
half-witted  Aimee  Le  Breton  take?  You  say  I  am 
she!" 

"I  shall  never  give  you  your  freedom,"  Alvin 
affirmed  stoutly,  "and  my  advice  to  you  is  don't  at- 
tempt to  take  it.  I  have  everything  on  my  side.  You 
have  nothing!  You  lie  buried  at  Qu'Appelle!  You 
could  not  even  persuade  Barrimore  that  you  are  other 
than  Aimee  Le  Breton.  He  saw  you  to-day.  He  has 
gone  away  believing  you  to  be  Aimee.  He  will  not 
return." 

Eweretta  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  the  agony  of 
despair  that  convulsed  it. 

"From  now  you  will  not  walk  in  the  garden," 
went  on  Alvin,  "you  will  walk  only  in  the  wood. 
If  I  liberate  you  now,  from  this  room,  will  you 
promise  to  behave  reasonably?  You  will  always 
be  well  treated  so  long  as  you  behave  reasonably, 
and  make  no  attempt  to  cross  my  purposes.  You 
know  the  consequences  of  your  wild  outbursts.  They 
drive  me  to  drink." 

She  turned  and  faced  him. 

"What  a  coward  you  are!"  she  exclaimed  fiercely. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  51 

Then  he  struck  her. 

She  did  not  cry  out,  though  the  pain  was  well-nigh 
intolerable. 

"Coward!     Coward!"  she  repeated. 

He  went  out  and  left  her,  locking  the  door. 

She  paced  the  room,  backwards  and  forwards  like 
a  caged  animal,  till  the  sun  set  and  darkness  came. 
Then  she  crouched  upon  the  floor,  her  head  in  her 
hands. 

A  dull,  unfeeling  apathy  was  upon  her.  She  no 
longer  struggled.  She  was  faint  for  want  of  food, 
for  she  had  refused  what  Mrs.  Breton  had  offered 
her  both  at  breakfast  and  luncheon,  believing — and 
with  good  reason — that  her  food  and  drink  were 
drugged. 

At  last  a  low  scratching  sound  made  itself  heard. 

Eweretta  sprang  up  and  listened. 

"Miss  Aimee!"  came  in  a  sharp  whisper.  "I 
got  the  key.  He  is  drunk  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  is 
out." 

The  grating  sound  of  the  key  as  it  turned  in  the 
lock  was  like  music  to  the  ears  of  the  unhappy  girl. 

It  was  Mattie,  the  cook,  who  had  often  before 
secretly  befriended  her.  Mattie  thoroughly  believed 
that  poor  Eweretta  was  mad  Aimee  Le  Breton,  but 
she  humored  her  by  pretending  to  believe  otherwise. 
She  believed  Mr.  Alvin's  assertion  that  the  poor  girl 
was  at  times  violent,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to 
control  her.  But  the  servant's  kind  heart  grieved  for 
the  unfortunate  girl. 

"Come  with  me,  miss,  and  have  a  meal  before  the 
master  wakes,  and  before  the  missis  comes  back  from 
Hastings." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  of  me,  Mattie?"  asked 
Eweretta  with  a  pitiful  effort  at  raillery. 


52  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Afraid  of  you!  No,  dear  heart!  You  need  not 
tread  softly,  Mr.  Alvin  has  drunk  enough  to  keep 
him  asleep  till  the  dead  rise  at  the  last  day.  What 
a  pity  he  ever  drinks.  He  is  kind  enough  when 
sober." 

It  was  in  the  kitchen  that  Mattie  served  a  good  meal 
for  Eweretta,  which  she  ate  ravenously — for  she  had 
deprived  herself  of  food  so  much  from  fear  of  her 
brain  being  dulled  by  drugs.  Her  brain  was  clear 
enough  to-day. 

Mattie,  who  had  come  from  Montreal — engaged 
there  at  the  same  time  as  her  fellow-servants,  Faith 
and  Pierre,  was  homesick  for  her  beloved  Canada, 
and  perhaps  this  made  her  the  more  sympathetic  with 
this  unhappy  Canadian  girl,  who  was  moreover  so 
beautiful. 

While  Eweretta  ate  in  the  lamplight,  Mattie  talked 
to  her  of  Canada. 

All  at  once  the  servant  caught  sight  of  a  red  streak 
showing  through  the  muslin  of  Eweretta's  blouse. 

"Oh,  you  poor  lamb!"  she  cried,  with  tears  spring- 
ing to  her  eyes.  "Did  he  do  that?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Eweretta  with  a  fiery  flash  from 
her  splendid  eyes.  "I  called  him  a  coward  and  he 
struck  me." 

Mattie  insisted  on  bathing  the  broken  skin,  accom- 
panying her  work  with  invectives  on  the  cruel  monster 
who  had  inflicted  it. 

"It's  the  drink,"  she  said. 

"My  old  lover  came  here  to-day,"  burst  from 
Eweretta,  while  her  tears  fell.  "I  saw  him!  Oh, 
Mattie,  won't  you  help  me  to  escape?  You  are  so 
kind!" 

Mattie  set  her  teeth  hard.  She  believed  this  was  a 
delusion  of  the  poor  girl's  about  her  lover.  She  knew 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  53 

the  story  of  the  supposed  dead  Eweretta,  and  that 
the  girl  she  really  believed  to  be  Aimee  Le  Breton  now 
imagined  herself  to  be  her  dead  sister. 

"Ah,  where  would  you  go,  honey,  if  I  did?"  she 
answered,  "and  what  would  become  of  you?" 

"I  should  go  to  Philip  Barrimore,"  Eweretta 
answered  with  great  decision.  "I  don't  want  my 
father's  money.  Uncle  Thomas  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton 
are  welcome  to  it.  It  was  to  obtain  that  money  that 
they  pretended  I  died;  and  it  was  my  half-sister  who 
died.  We  were  so  much  alike  that  one  might  easily 
be  mistaken  for  the  other.  I  remember  well  Uncle 
Thomas  taking  me  to  see  Aimee  die.  The  next  thing 
I  remember  is  finding  myself  in  a  strange  place  out  on 
the  prairie.  I  was  dressed  in  Aimee's  clothes.  They 
told  me  I  was  Aimee.  They  said  'Eweretta  died  sud- 
denly, and  is  buried.'  Ever  since  then  they  have  pre- 
tended that  I  am  Aimee.  They  drug  me  to  make  me 
stupid.  Am  I  stupid  to-night?  You  can't  think  so. 
I  am  myself  because  I  have  touched  no  food  or  drink 
that  they  have  offered  to  me." 

Mattie  looked  full  at  the  girl,  full  and  critically. 
Could  there,  after  all,  be  truth  in  what  she  said? 
Mattie  felt  for  the  first  time  that  it  might  be  true, 
this  so-called  delusion  of  the  unhappy  girl. 

"Well,  miss,"  she  said,  "if  all  you  say  is  truth, 
then  you  are  the  most  wronged  creature  on  God's 
earth." 

"It  is  true,  Mattie.  It  is  also  true  that  Philip 
Barrimore  came  to  this  house  to-day.  If  I  had  not 
fainted,  I  should  have  run  to  him.  He  would  have 
known  me !  Why  did  he  come  ?  He  must  believe  me 
dead." 

She  broke  down  and  wept. 

"Look  you  here,  miss,"  said  Mattie,  growing  sud- 


54  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

denly  alert,  "that  gentleman  who  came  here  has  taken 
the  red  bungalow  across  the  fields.  You  can  see  it 
from  your  window.  I  heard  it  from  the  boy  that 
brings  the  milk  from  Pickett's  Farm.  He  pointed  him 
out  to  me  and  said,  'That  bloke  has  taken  the  bunga- 
low across  there  from  the  governor.'  Those  were  his 
words.  If  so,  he  will  find  you  out,  never  fear.  You 
take  things  quietly,  and  don't  anger  the  master.  That's 
my  advice.  And  now  get  you  to  bed  before  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  comes." 

"Will  you  get  into  trouble,  Mattie,  for  letting  me 
out  of  the  room?"  Eweretta  asked  anxiously. 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself,  miss,  never  fear,"  said 
Mattie.  "Hark!  I  hear  Pierre  and  Faith  coming  in. 
Go  at  once !" 

Pierre  and  Faith  were  "keeping  company,"  and  had 
been  for  a  walk  together. 

Eweretta  went  to  her  room  with  an  elastic  tread. 
She  had  hope  for  the  first  time  in  this  most  horrible 
year.  She  went  to  her  window. 

A  light  was  burning  in  the  bungalow. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   KISS 

IN  coming  to  Gissing,  Thomas  Alvin  had  not  had  the 
remotest  idea  that  the  Barrimores  lived  at  Hastings. 
It  had  been  in  London  that  his  brother  and  Eweretta 
had  met  Philip,  and  it  had  been  to  the  Savage  Club 
that  the  communication  of  Eweretta's  supposed  death 
and  burial  had  been  sent.  Thomas  Alvin  had  heard 
his  brother  say  that  Philip  was  a  member  of  that  club. 

Gissing  had  been  fixed  upon  as  a  residence  because 
of  its  loneliness,  and  because  it  was  within  reach  of 
Hastings,  and  Thomas  Alvin  had  years  ago  visited 
that  watering-place  (when  in  partnership  with  a  man 
who  afterwards  threw  him  over)  and  taken  a  great 
liking  to  it. 

His  plot  to  possess  himself  of  his  niece's  fortune 
had  succeeded  admirably  up  to  now. 

Kept  under  the  influence  of  drugs,  Eweretta  had 
been  very  little  trouble. 

But  lately  she  had  refused  her  food,  and  had  had 
terrifying  sane  moments  in  which  she  had  outbursts 
of  denunciation. 

Thomas  Alvin  regretted  the  occasions  when  he 
had  exercised  physical  cruelty;  strange  to  say,  from 
pity  for  the  defrauded  and  outraged  girl,  but  also 
because  he  was  superstitious.  To  his  curiously  con- 
structed conscience,  it  had  seemed  only  a  clever  busi- 
ness transaction  to  get  hold  of  Eweretta's  fortune. 
Moreover,  did  he  not  permit  her  to  share  it?  But 

55 


56  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

to  treat  the  girl  with  cruelty  was  monstrous,  and 
might  bring  disaster  on  him.  He  had  never  treated 
her  badly  when  sober.  Ill-luck  had  followed  him  all 
his  life,  as  being  the  thirteenth  child  of  his  father,  and 
he  was  ever  watching  for  some  new  calamity  to  befall 
him. 

On  each  occasion  on  which  he  had  inflicted  cruelty 
on  his  niece  he  had  been  seized  with  terror,  and  had 
flown  to  the  brandy  bottle  again.  He  was  not  a 
drunkard,  but  at  these  times  he  got  drunk. 

Drink  is  not  a  Canadian  vice,  and  Thomas  Alvin 
had  passed  most  of  his  life  in  Canada. 

The  thing  he  feared  most,  after  a  glass  or  two  of 
the  fiery  fluid,  was  the  spirit  of  his  brother  John, 
Eweretta's  father — the  one  member  of  the  large 
family  who  had  succeeded  in  making  a  fortune. 

Thomas  devoutly  believed  in  ghosts.  He  never  for- 
got a  scene  at  Klondyke,  where  a  murdered  man  had 
shown  himself  in  the  light  of  the  camp  fire.  There 
had  been  men  there  who,  though  terrified  enough  at 
the  time,  had  declared  that  the  ghost  was  the  man 
himself — alive,  though  he  had  been  left  for  dead.  But 
Thomas  had  always  been  convinced  it  was  a  spirit 
they  had  seen. 

When  Mrs.  Le  Breton  returned  from  Hastings,  she 
found  Thomas  just  awake  from  his  drunken  sleep, 
and  shivering  in  the  dark  dining-room,  where  supper 
had  been  laid  while  he  slept. 

She  put  down  a  parcel  and  lit  the  lamp. 

Then  she  saw  him  and  understood. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  he  whimpered.  "I  saw 
John.  I  am  sure  I  saw  John — " 

"Drink,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Le  Breton.  "If  you  are 
going  to  take  to  that,  we  are  lost." 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  the  man  answered  penitently. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  57 

(He  was  in  that  foolish  state  which  exists  when  a  man 
is  recovering,  but  not  yet  recovered,  from  an  alco- 
holic excess.)  • 

"And  don't  ill-use  the  poor  girl  again  either,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Le  Breton  virtuously. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton's  cruelty  was  of  a  more  refined 
description,  and  covered  up  by  kind  words  and  at- 
tempted caresses — attempted  only,  because  always 
repulsed. 

"I  swear  I  won't  strike  her  again,"  whimpered 
Alvin.  "I  hate  myself  for  it." 

"And  don't  swear,  lest  you  add  the  breaking  of 
your  oath  to  your  other  sins.  What  we've  got  to  do 
is  to  stick  to  our  story,  stick  to  the  girl,  and  stick 
to  the  money.  We  must  have  no  scandals.  That 
would  be  to  court  inquiries.  Do  you  know  that 
Pickett's  man  who  gave  me  a  lift  in  the  trap  to 
Hastings  asked  me  if  we  kept  a  wild  animal  in  the 
enclosed  wood.  He  said  his  master  had  heard  strange, 
unearthly  sounds  from  our  place.  You  know  what 
that  was.  There  must  be  no  more  of  it." 

This  piece  of  information  went  far  towards  thor- 
oughly sobering  Thomas  Alvin. 

"What  a  fool  I  am!"  he  muttered.  "What  a  fool 
I  have  always  been!  I  was  born  cursed!  I  shall  die 
a  violent  death." 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  jeered. 

"Then  it  won't  be  by  your  own  hand,"  she  told  him. 
"You  are  too  much  of  a  coward." 

He  looked  at  her  with  fierce  eyes  in  which  hate 
shone. 

"It  was  for  calling  me  that  that  I  struck  the  girl," 
he  said. 

"But  you  daren't  strike  me"  she  reminded  him. 
"You  only  dare  attack  what  can't  defend  itself." 


58  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

From  which  conversation  the  reader  will  gather  that 
there  was  not  much  affection  between  the  plotters. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton,  however,  was  not  a  creature  to  be 
cowed  by  a  bully.  Misery  had  taught  her  courage, 
while  it  had  made  her  cruel.  She  had  not  always  been 
what  she  was  now. 

She  had  been  a  gentle,  loving  woman  once,  before 
John  Alvin  had  come  across  her  path. 

A  pretty  young  widow,  earning  her  living  by  hard 
work,  her  heart  had  responded  only  too  readily  to 
the  charm  of  John  Alvin.  She  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  him  and  was  ruined  before  she  discovered  that  he 
had  a  wife. 

John  Alvin's  legitimate  and  illegitimate  daughters 
had  been  born  near  about  the  same  time. 

John  Alvin  had  forsaken  the  woman  he  had 
wronged,  and  left  her  to  her  fate.  ' 

Aimee  had  been  born  a  beautiful  child,  but  weak- 
minded. 

For  eighteen  years  Mrs.  Le  Breton  had  supported 
herself  and  her  afflicted  child  by  mending  shoes! 
She  had  found  that  so  she  could  best  make  a  living, 
and  at  the  same  time  remain  at  home.  Home?  It 
had  merely  been  a  two-roomed  "shack." 

For  eighteen  years  she  had  nursed  her  hatred 
against  John  Alvin — John  Alvin,  who  had  grown  rich, 
and  had  a  house  in  Montreal,  and  could  send  his 
daughter  Eweretta  to  a  fine  school,  and  could  take  her 
to  visit  London. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  kept  herself  informed  of  the  move- 
ments of  John  Alvin.  She  rejoiced  when  his  wife 
died.  She  also  nursed  for  a  brief  space  the  hope  that 
then  he  would  remember  the  mother  of  his  other 
child  and  do  her  justice. 

With   infinite   difficulty    she   journeyed    with   her 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  59 

daughter  to  Montreal  to  be  spurned  by  John  Alvin, 
and  sent  back  to  her  boot-mending. 

It  was  then  she  had  seen  Eweretta  and  been  struck 
by  the  appalling  likeness  she  bore  to  Aimee. 

It  was  at  the  death  of  John  Alvin  that  Mrs.  Le 
Breton's  hopes  once  more  rose. 

Surely  he  would  leave  something  out  of  his  riches 
for  his  afflicted  daughter! 

She  sought  Thomas  Alvin,  who  was  at  that  time 
at  Regina.  He,  too,  had  had  hopes  of  getting  some- 
thing under  his  brother's  will,  and  was  furious  because 
all  was  left  to  Eweretta. 

But  at  her  death  it  was  all  to  come  to  him. 

Aimee  was  at  that  time  dying,  and  Thomas  Alvin 
conceived  the  idea  of  inducing  Eweretta  (an  easy 
matter  with  the  tender-hearted  girl)  to  come  and 
visit  her  half-sister,  and  befriend  her,  and  then  sub- 
stitute one  sister  for  the  other,  and  claim  the  money. 

It  had  been  so  easy! 

The  dead  girl  was  dressed  in  Eweretta's  fine  clothes, 
while  Eweretta  herself  was  heavily  drugged,  and 
dressed  in  her  half-sister's  poor  garments.  No  one 
doubted  that  it  was  indeed  Eweretta  who  was  buried 
at  Qu'Appelle. 

So  Philip  Barrimore  heard  of  the  death  of  John 
Alvin  and  of  Eweretta  at  the  same  time.  As  we 
know,  he  journeyed  to  Canada  and  saw  the  grave 
where  his  beloved  one  was  supposed  to  lie. 

But  no  one  could  tell  him  what  had  become  of 
Aimee  and  her  mother. 

And  now,  within  a  year,  Philip  had  by  the  merest 
chance  come  to  be  a  near  neighbor  of  those  he  sought! 
But  little  did  he  dream  that  the  girl  who  passed  for 
Mrs.  Le  Breton's  daughter  was  his  own  lost 
Eweretta. 


60  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

After  supper  Mrs.  Le  Breton  left  Thomas  Alvin 
to  himself  and  went  to  look  at  Eweretta.  She  dis- 
covered that  the  girl  was  asleep  upon  her  bed,  fully 
dressed.  She  imagined  that  Thomas  Alvin  had  left 
the  door  of  the  room  unlocked. 

Eweretta  was  apparently  dreaming  a  pleasant 
dream,  for  a  smile  played  about  her  lips. 

So  pale  was  she,  that  she  looked  like  a  waxen  figure 
more  than  a  living  girl. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  stooped  the  candle  over  her,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  her.  Then  her  mouth  quivered; 
tears  chased  each  other  down  her  cheeks. 

She  was  so  like  Aimee! 

The  old  dead  womanliness  woke  in  her  at  that 
moment,  and  with  an  irresistible  impulse  she  leaned 
over  and  softly  kissed  the  pale  face. 


PHYLLIS   THROWS   A   BOMB 

PHILIP  BARRIMORE,  in  a  penitent  mood  regarding 
grieving  his  sweet  mother  by  going  from  under  her 
roof,  also  regarding  his  irritability  towards  his  good 
uncle,  laid  himself  out  to  follow  their  wishes  in  the 
last  days  before  he  finally  installed  himself  with  his 
man  Davis  at  the  bungalow.  August  had  come  in, 
and  the  weather  being  ideal,  there  had  been  little 
excursions  to  places  of  interest  round  Hastings — a 
form  of  amusement  dear  to  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Bar- 
rimore. 

Colonel  Lane  and  Phyllis  had  sometimes  been  with 
them,  as  well  as  Dan  Webster,  who  had  arrived. 

Philip  had  put  aside  his  work  entirely,  knowing 
that  he  would  soon  be  without  interruptions,  and  he 
was  a  little  annoyed  with  himself  that  he  was  rather 
enjoying  this  sacrifice  of  time. 

Having  discovered  Aimee,  and  having  found  her 
inaccessible,  he  had  reconciled  himself  to  the  inevit- 
able. After  all,  what  could  he  do  that  could  really 
help  a  demented  girl?  And  would  not  the  sight  of 
her  keep  alive  his  old  sorrow? 

His  neighbors  of  the  White  House  kept  to  them- 
selves. He  was  not  likely  to  see  anything  of  them. 

The  bungalow  was  furnished  to  his  liking,  and 
Davis,  who  had  been  a  soldier,  would  make  an  ex- 
cellent servant.  Philip  felt  more  reconciled  to  life 
than  he  had  done  for  a  long  while. 

61 


62  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN, 

Dan  Webster's  cheerfulness  under  his  affliction  was 
not  without  its  influence  on  Philip. 

To  have  the  eyes  go  wrong,  for  a  young  painter  of 
such  promise,  was  nothing  less  than  a  catastrophe, 
yet  Dan  never  played  the  part  of  a  wet  blanket. 

True,  he  was  petted  and  made  much  of  all  round. 
Phyllis  Lane  was  particularly  sweet  to  him. 

Phyllis,  who  was  under  her  father's  displeasure 
because  she  had  refused  the  offer  of  Herbert  Lang- 
ridge  the  second  time,  saw  with  some  relief  that  her 
kindness  to  Dan  did  not  meet  with  parental  reproof. 
But  Philip  rather  quenched  her  spirits  by  speaking  a 
warning  word. 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Barrimore,  Uncle  Robert,  Dan 
and  Philip  had  gone  to  the  sea-front  to  listen  to  the 
band  and  watch  the  gay  pedestrians,  when  they  en- 
countered Colonel  Lane  and  his  daughter.  Phyllis 
at  once  allied  herself  to  Dan. 

Chairs  for  all  the  party  could  not  be  found  together, 
so  Phyllis  and  Dan  were  at  some  distance  from  the 
others. 

Philip,  who  found  himself  alone  with  Uncle  Robert, 
watched  Phyllis  furtively,  while  his  uncle  poured  out 
quotations. 

Phyllis  was  apparently  fascinating  the  susceptible 
Dan,  to  judge  from  the  smile  on  his  face  and  from  the 
way  his  head  bent  towards  her. 

Phyllis's  small,  piquant  face,  veiled  illusively  with 
white  tulle,  which  covered  the  enormous  hat,  con- 
fining the  sprays  of  pink  roses,  was  lifted  to  Dan. 

Luckily  Dan  was  perforce  wearing  a  shade. 

But  Phyllis's  voice  was  low  and  musical,  and  Dan 
had  ears  intact.  Moreover,  Philip  observed,  Phyllis's 
little  delicately-gloved  hand  now  and  again  rested  on 
Dan's  coat-sleeve  as  she  emphasized  some  remark. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  63 

No !    Philip  decided.    This  would  not  do. 

It  was  seemingly  a  necessity  to  Phyllis  to  have  a 
male  appendage — to  have  a  man  to  flirt  with,  inno- 
cently but  foolishly. 

Dan,  poor  unfortunate  Dan,  with  his  shaded  eyes, 
was  better  than  no  one. 

Philip  could  think  of  only  one  means  of  keeping 
silly,  giddy  little  Phyllis — who  was  a  dear  baby,  all 
the  same — within  bounds.  Philip  must  attach  him- 
self to  her,  keep  her  always  in  tow,  and  thus  guard 
her.  No  harm  could  come  to  him,  as  he  knew  she 
was  married;  and  there  was  a  much  stronger  reason, 
too,  why  she  could  never  hurt  him.  No  harm  could 
come  to  her,  if  she  chose  to  mildly  flirt  with  him. 
Though  Philip  was  actually  only  a  few  years  older 
than  Phyllis,  his  interest  in  the  alluring  little  woman 
was  paternal. 

The  warning  word  which  Philip  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  saying  to  Phyllis  was  spoken  when  the  two 
young  people  were  on  their  way  back  to  Hawk's 
Nest.  The  others  had  chosen  to  take  a  tram  from 
the  Memorial. 

The  clock  on  Blacklands  Church  chimed  the  half- 
hour  as  the  actual  warning  was  spoken.  They  had 
all  left  the  sea- front  at  ten  o'clock  when  the  band 
played  "God  save  the  King"  (and  the  Colonel  had 
been  a  little  annoyed  even  with  his  dear  Mrs.  Barri- 
more  for  begging  him  to  come  back  with  them  for 
an  hour,  at  a  moment  when  he  was  "standing  at 
attention,"  like  a  good  soldier,  to  honor  the 
King). 

It  had  taken  just  half  an  hour  for  Philip  to  screw 
up  his  courage  to  quench  the  flow  of  Phyllis's  incon- 
sequent chatter. 

"Phyllis,  you  must  be  more  discreet  in  your  inter- 

f 


64  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

course  with  Mr.  Webster,"  he  said,  as  the  clock 
struck. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Phyllis,  as  if 
greatly  mystified,  though  she  perfectly  understood. 
"Do  you  think  I  tire  him  ?  He  seemed  to  like  to  hear 
me  talk." 

"You  must  not  let  poor  Dan  get  fond  of  you, 
Phyllis,"  Philip  told  her  with  a  fine  assumption  of 
sternness. 

"But  everyone  does,  you  know,"  Phyllis  answered, 
as  if  stating  an  everyday  fact  of  no  particular  im- 
portance. 

"You  don't  know  Dan  as  I  do,"  Philip  hammered 
away.  "He  is  apt  to  become  very  much  in  earnest. 
He  thinks  you  are  free.  It  is  not  fair  to  him, 
Phyllis." 

"You  always  lecture  me,"  Phyllis  said;  "yet  I  like 
you,  and  it  is  to  you  I  bring  my  worries." 

Philip  laughed.  Worries?  What  did  this  small 
person — this  captivating  little  bride  of  weeks — know 
of  worries?  It  struck  him  that  she  did  not  worry  a 
great  deal  about  her  absent  husband. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  your  father  like  a  brave 
girl,  and  face  the  music,"  he  said,  as  the  outcome  of 
his  thought  about  the  absent  bridegroom. 

"Tell  him  now  he  is  so  cross  with  me  about  that 
horrid  Mr.  Langridge?"  broke  out  Phyllis  indig- 
nantly. "I'll  tell  you  a  secret,"  she  added,  pulling 
his  arm  and  tip-toeing.  "I  believe  father  wants  to 
marry  again  himself,  and  he  wants  me  settled  and  out 
of  the  way.  And  I  know  who  it  is,  but  I  daren't  tell 
you,  of  all  people." 

Philip  felt  a  strange  stiffness  come  into  his  facial 
muscles.  A  strange  pain  gripped  his  heart. 

"Don't  tell  me!     I   won't  listen  to  this,   Phyllis. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  65 

You  have  no  right  to  discuss  your  father  in  this 
way." 

"Cross-patch!"  cried  Miss  Phyllis.  "You  wait  and 
see,  that's  all!" 

They  had  reached  the  gate  of  Hawk's  Nest. 

It  was  evident  that  the  rest  of  the  party  were  home 
before  them. 

Two  figures — a  tall,  soldierly  man  and  a  slight, 
graceful  woman — were  pacing  the  croquet  lawn  in 
the  moonlight.  It  was  so  moonlight  that  the  shadows 
of  the  big  oak-trees  had  etched  themselves  upon  the 
lawn. 

Philip,  forgetful  of  his  companion,  strode  across  the 
rustic  bridge  that  spanned  a  brook,  and  up  the  terrace 
at  big  bounds,  to  the  open  French  window  of  the 
dining-room,  where  the  electric  light  showed  Dan  with 
his  green  shade  and  Uncle  Robert  with  his  coat  off. 

"  'Satire  should,  like  a  polished  razor  keen,  Wound 
with  a  touch  that's  scarcely  felt  or  seen,' "  came  in 
Uncle  Robert's  stentorian  tones. 

"Where's  the  mater?"  asked  Philip,  though  he  knew 
very  well. 

"In  the  garden  with  Colonel  Lane,  my  boy," 
answered  Uncle  Robert.  "I  should  have  thought 
you  could  not  have  come  in  without  seeing  them — 
a  moonlight  night  like  this,  when — " 

"Surgit  post  nubila  Phoebus"  completed  Dan  mis- 
chievously. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Uncle  Robert.  "Motto  of 
London  Coachmakers'  Company." 

Philip  did  not  join  in  the  laugh.  He  sat  down, 
frowning,  and  refused  a  cigar  when  Uncle  Robert 
passed  the  box  within  reach. 

Uncle  Robert  winked  at  Dan,  which  signal  was  lost 
upon  the  young  man  owing  to  his  eyes  being  covered. 


66  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Uncle  Robert  had  meant  to  indicate  his  opinion 
that  Phyllis  and  Philip  had  had  a  "tiff." 

Phyllis  peeped  in  at  the  open  door,  presenting  a 
roguish  face,  in  which  were  set  two  adorable  dimples. 
"Mr.  Burns,"  she  called  softly,  "what  time  is  it?" 

"A  quarter  to  eleven,  my  dear,"  said  Uncle  Robert. 

"Dad!"  shouted  Phyllis.  "It  is  a  quarter  to 
eleven." 

After  that  she  skipped  daintily  into  the  room  with 
a  flutter  of  frills,  and  coming  up  to  the  table  on  which 
Dan  was  leaning  stooped  quite  close  and  said: 
"How  sad  you  can't  see  the  moonlight  to-night,  Mr. 
Webster.  It  is  a  perfect,  perfect  night !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  came  in  just  then.  The  electric 
light  tried  her  eyes  evidently,  for  she  held  her  hand 
up  to  shade  them. 

Philip  watched  her  critically.  His  face  was  set  and 
pale. 

Colonel  Lane,  who  had  followed  Mrs.  Barrimore, 
called  his  daughter,  bade  a  hasty  good-night  to  his 
friends,  and  went  away  hurriedly. 

"H'm!"  said  Uncle  Robert.  "There  seems  to  be 
a  good  deal  of  grumpiness  in  the  air  to-night." 

Philip  waited  till  he  heard  the  click  of  the  gate,  then 
he  took  up  his  hat  and  went  out. 

"Gone  to  make  up  the  'tiff,'  I  suppose,"  commented 
Uncle  Robert.  "Have  a  whisky,  Dan?" 

But  Philip  had  gone  out  to  walk  alone  on  the  West 
Hill.  His  mind  was  in  a  tumult. 


CHAPTER  X 

FOR   A   SON'S   SAKE 

WHEN  Philip  Barrimore  reached  the  West  Hill  he 
strode  along  towards  the  entrance  to  St.  Clement's 
Caves  and  stood  bare-headed  near  the  small  wooden 
lighthouse  looking  down  at  the  Old  Town;  at  the 
moonlit  sea,  where  the  riding  lights  of  the  fishing 
fleet  shone  like  jewels;  at  the  ruby  light  at  the 
end  of  the  long  arm  of  the  unfinished  harbor  wall. 
Very  peaceful,  very  lovely  it  all  looked  under  the 
moon;  but  Philip's  heart  was  full  of  unrest  and  re- 
sentment. How  dared  the  Colonel ! 

How  could  his  mother!  how  could  she! 

He  turned  his  face  in  the  direction  of  the  ruined 
castle. 

The  light  from  the  Sovereign  lightship  flashed  and 
disappeared. 

"The  thing  is  unbelievable!  monstrous!"  he  ex- 
claimed aloud.  "How  blind  I  have  been!" 

Perhaps  Philip  had  been  a  little  selfish  as  well  as 
blind. 

The  mother,  who  was  still  young,  and  who,  fresh 
from  school,  had  been  married  to  Philip's  father,  a 
man  twenty  years  her  senior,  and  a  hard,  unsym- 
pathetic barrister,  who  though  strictly  honorable, 
had  no  affection  in  his  composition;  the  mother 
Philip  had  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  asset  of  his  own. 
His  father  being  dead  the  mother  naturally  became 
the  property  of  the  son.  She  had  been  a  dutiful 

67 


68  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

wife.  It  now  remained  to  her  to  be  a  dutiful  mother. 
Philip,  whom  she  loved  tenderly,  could  leave  her  and 
take  a  bungalow;  but  she  had  not  the  right  to 
leave  him.  Above  all,  she  had  no  right  to  entertain 
the  idea  of  a  second  marriage.  That  the  mother  of  a 
grown-up  son  should  fall  in  love  seemed  scarcely 
decent 

This  had  been  Philip's  idea.  He  somehow  felt  that 
the  whole  business  was  a  sacrilege.  He  conceived 
of  his  beautiful  mother  as  a  permanent  pure  jewel 
set  in  the  old  home.  She  was  to  grow  white-haired 
there.  She  was  to  be  always  there,  waiting  his  own 
erratic  returns. 

He  had  resented  her  young  appearance  as  "un- 
suitable." He  had  gently  but  firmly  reproved  her  for 
wearing  hats  instead  of  bonnets;  for  gowning  herself 
as  his  sister  should  have  been  gowned,  i f  he  had  had  one. 

Philip  was  five-and-twenty,  and  had  the  arrogance 
of  that  age. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  forty-two  but  she  looked  no 
more  than  thirty.  And  art  did  not  enter  into  the 
illusion.  Mrs.  Barrimore's  smooth,  wild-rose  com- 
plexion was  innocent  of  powder.  The  entire  absence 
of  lines  was  not  due  to  massage.  The  masses  of  wavy 
nut-brown  hair  were  her  own,  and  no  dyer's  art 
bestowed  the  rich  color.  The  clear  grey  eyes  had 
the  tender  light  and  brightness  of  youth. 

And  Colonel  Lane  was  in  love  with  her !  Phyllis — 
silly,  inconsequent  Phyllis — had  seen  it,  while  he,  with 
his  quick  insight,  had  never  suspected  it  till  to-night! 

He  might  have  known — yes,  he  certainly  ought  to 
have  known — that  Uncle  Robert  could  not  have  been 
the  attraction  which  made  Colonel  Lane  so  frequent 
a  visitor  at  Hawk's  Nest. 

He  had  thought  that  the  mother  encouraged  the 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  69 

Colonel's  visits,  and  he  put  it  down  to  a  bit  of  innocent 
scheming  on  her  part  to  bring  about  a  marriage  be- 
tween him  and  Phyllis.  Yes,  he  had  been  utterly  blind. 
He  felt  humiliated. 

He  felt  also  virtuous. 

Had  he  not  been  cheerfully  giving  up  days  of  his 
precious  time  chiefly  to  please  his  mother?  Had 
he  not  gone  with  her  to  her  precious  garden-parties, 
and  on  excursions  to  Rye  and  Winchelsea?  Had 
he  not  controlled  his  impatience  with  Uncle  Robert's 
quotations — for  nearly  a  week?  Uncle  Robert!  did 
he  know  about  this  unseemly  affair?  If  he  did  know, 
did  he  approve? 

But  he,  Philip,  was  the  head  of  the  family,  not 
Uncle  Robert. 

Philip  paced  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  hill, 
till  the  clocks  of  All  Saints'  and  of  St.  Clement's  struck 
a  duet. 

It  was  midnight. 

Philip  turned  and  walked  rapidly  homewards  across 
the  hill,  and  down  the  hundred  odd  steps  that  brought 
him  into  the  Queen's  Road,  up  which  he  strode  to- 
wards Hawk's  Nest. 

As  he  expected,  the  mother  was  waiting  up  for  him 
in  the  dim  drawing-room,  where  now  only  one  lamp 
was  burning,  subdued  under  a  pink  shade. 

He  saw  her  as  he  came  upon  the  terrace.  She 
heard  his  step,  and  came  out  through  the  open  French 
window. 

"You  are  late,  dearest,"  she  said  a  little  anxiously. 

Her  tone  softened  him.  Was  ever  a  voice  so- 
tender — even  Eweretta's!  Was  ever  love  so  great  or 
patience  so  enduring  as  this  mother's? 

He  with  his  moods,  his  trying  moods,  his  irrita- 
bility— but — was  she  not  going  to  fail  him  ? 


70  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Mother,"  he  said  gently  as  he  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm,  "I  have  been  on  the  West  HiH  in  a 
vile  temper.  Mother,  tell  me  I  have  been  mistaken. 
I—" 

She  interrupted  him  tremulously. 

"Dear,  I  think  I  understand,"  she  said.  "Have 
you  only  just  seen  it?  I  will  tell  you  everything,  and 
then,  dearest,  I  will  ask  you  not  to  refer  to  it 
again.  Colonel  Lane  asked  me  to  marry  him  to- 
night." 

"And  you?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"I  refused  him." 

"My  own  mother!"  Philip  said,  drawing  her  close 
and  kissing  her.  He  found  her  cheek  wet. 

"I  knew,"  she  said,  with  a  break  in  her  voice,  "that 
you  would  not  wish  it." 

"Is  it  likely?"  he  broke  out  in  his  masterful  way. 
"You  have  done  with  all  that  sort  of  thing.  It  is 
for  girls  in  their  teens,  not  for  mothers  of  grown-up 
sons.  At  your  time  of  life — " 

"Philip,  am  I  so  very  old?"  She  laughed  girlishly 
through  her  tears. 

How  charming  was  this  mother,  after  all!  Philip, 
looking  at  her  as  she  stood  there  in  the  moonlight, 
realized  that  the  Colonel  could  not  well  be  blamed. 

Philip  loved  her  dearly  though  a  little  selfishly, 
as  we  have  shown.  His  next  words  proved  this  still 
more. 

"I  could  not  bear  it,  mother — to  lose  you.  I  have 
always  been  first  in  your  heart,  and  now,  I  have  only 
you  in  all  the  world!" 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  love  and  pity  rose  at  these  words, 
in  such  a  flood  to  her  tender  heart,  that  she  was  glad 
even,  that  she  had  to-night  made  a  sacrifice  for  her 
boy's  sake.  To  her,  it  had  been  sweet  to  dwell  for 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  71 

even  half  an  hour  in  the  paradise,  the  door  of  which 
was  now  closed  against  her.  Being  a  woman,  and  a 
loving  woman,  she  had  longed  for  love  such  as  other 
women  had,  and  which  she  had  never  known  till  to- 
night, when  the  grizzled  soldier  had  spoken. 

She  might  well  have  reminded  Philip  that  he  had 
twice  dethroned  her  in  his  affections.  First  for 
Eweretta  and  secondly  for  his  work. 

Being  what  she  was,  she  held  her  peace. 

But  Colonel  Lane  had  his  own  views.  He  was 
what  Phyllis  called  very  "grumpy"  on  the  way  home, 
and  when  she  mentioned  Philip,  had  said : 

"There  is  a  good  deal  too  much  of  Philip  at  Hawk's 
Nest." 

Whereupon  Phyllis  the  "cute"  drew  her  own  con- 
clusions. 

Next  morning,  when  Uncle  Robert  came  in  from 
his  swim,  Philip  opened  fire  at  once  on  him. 

"I  say,  uncle,  did  you  know  anything  about  this 
affair  with  Colonel  Lane?" 

"Eh!  What!"  ejaculated  Uncle  Robert,  removing 
a  towel  from  his  neck  and  staring  at  his  nephew. 

"Colonel  Lane  proposed  to  mother  last  night," 
snapped  Philip. 

"Oh,  he  did,  did  he?"  said  Uncle  Robert,  pouncing 
upon  the  coffee-pot.  "Shows  his  good  taste." 

"Uncle!" 

"Well,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  shows  his  impertinence." 

"Can't  agree  with  you." 

"But  it  is  preposterous  at  mother's  age !" 

Uncle  Robert  burst  out  laughing. 

"Your  mother  is  young  enough  to  have  another 
family  yet!" 

Philip  got  up  and  stamped  about  the  floor,  his  hands 


72  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

deep  in  his  trouser  pockets,  his  masterful  chin  in  the 
air. 

"Young  man,"  said  Uncle  Robert,  "you  were  born 
when  your  mother  was  about  seventeen.  She  has 
devoted  herself  to  you  for  twenty-five  years.  Let 
someone  else  have  a  show  in." 

There  is  no  knowing  what  Philip  would  have 
replied  to  this,  for  at  the  moment  both  Mrs.  Barri- 
more  and  Dan  appeared,  so  of  necessity  the  subject 
dropped. 

But  Philip,  albeit  still  angry  with  Colonel  Lane, 
was  very  tender  to  his  pretty  mother,  placing  her 
chair  for  her,  and  embracing  her  with  extra  warmth. 

She  had  refused  to  marry  the  Colonel,  and  he  chose 
to  show  his  approval. 

But  the  pretty  pink  color  was  absent  from  her 
cheeks,  and  dark  rims  surrounded  the  grey  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A   RAY   OF   HOPE 

WHEN  Mrs.  Le  Breton  kissed  Eweretta,  it  had  been 
for  her  dead  child's  sake,  the  child  she  had  loved  with 
all  the  passion  of  her  soul,  but  with  that  spontaneous 
action  a  flood  of  repentance  had  surged  up  within  her. 
She  recalled  with  what  sweetness  Eweretta  had  begged 
to  share  what  she  had  with  her  half-sister.  She 
remembered,  too,  how  she  had  hated  Eweretta  for 
being  in  a  position  to  patronize  her  poor,  defrauded 
child — hated  her  for  her  health,  her  education,  her 
mental  vigor. 

But  now,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  she  looked 
upon  the  sleeping  face  with  pity  and  something  like 
tenderness. 

Why  had  she  in  the  bitterness  of  her  sorrow  and 
resentment  consented  to  be  a  party  to  this  vile  plot 
against  an  innocent  girl? 

What  was  done  could  not  be  undone !    But  could  it  ? 

She  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  Thomas  Alvin. 

He  was  an  outcast,  a  pariah.  He  had  been  like 
Jonah,  thrown  overboard  because  of  the  ill  fortune 
that  dogged  his  steps.  Nothing  he  touched  ever 
prospered. 

Possibly  the  idea  gained  in  childhood  that  he  was 
born  unlucky  had  helped  to  make  him  what  he  was. 
His  hand  was  against  everyone  and  everyone's  hand 
was  against  him.  He  had  led  her,  Andree  Le  Breton, 
into  crime. 

73 


74  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

She  wept  as  she  thought  of  the  little  shack  where 
she  had  laboriously  mended  shoes.  She  wished  her- 
self back  there,  if  only  she  could  wipe  the  stain  from 
her  soul ! 

Eweretta  moved,  and  presently  opened  her  eyes. 

It  was  not  a  hard  face  she  saw  now. 

"I  have  been  very  cruel  to  you,  Eweretta,"  Mrs. 
Le  Breton  whispered.  "I  am  going  to  be  kind  now. 
Forgive  me !" 

Eweretta,  startled,  chiefly  because  she  was  called 
by  her  own  name,  believed  herself  dreaming.  She 
sat  up,  and  stared  at  the  woman  seated  upon  her 
bed.  At  last  she  realized  that  Mrs.  Le  Breton  was 
friendly. 

"Oh!"  cried  Eweretta,  "thank  God!  you  will 
help  me !" 

"All  I  can,  child,"  answered  the  woman  sadly. 
"But  you  know  what  your  uncle  is!  Eweretta,  I  am 
afraid  of  him !" 

Eweretta  slipped  from  the  bed  and  placed  an  arm 
about  her  companion.  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you  too," 
she  said  softly.  "You  have  suffered  too." 

"I  have  made  you  suffer,"  answered  the  woman, 
her  tears  flowing  afresh.  "My  child  was  your  father's 
child  as  well  as  you.  He  left  us  in  poverty,  while  you 
had  everything.  I  hated  you  for  it.  To-night  I  don't 
hate  you." 

There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  steps  upon  the 
stairs. 

Both  women  shuddered.  The  steps  passed  along 
the  landing ;  a  door  was  opened  and  shut. 

Both  women  breathed  again. 

"You  won't  betray  me;"  whispered  Mrs.  Le  Breton. 
"If  he  knew  of  what  I  have  been  saying  to  you  to- 
night he  zvould  kill  me!" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  75 

"Can't  we  go  away  together?"  whispered  Eweretta 
excitedly.  "Philip  would  take  you  too.  I  know  he 
would.  He  is  so  near!  Oh,  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  let  us 
go — go  now!  Let  Uncle  Thomas  keep  the  money. 
What  does  money  matter?" 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  shook  her  head. 

"He  would  find  us.  He  would  kill  us,"  she  said, 
fear  distorting  her  face.  "And  if  you  go  alone,  he 
will  take  vengeance  on  me!  Oh!  Eweretta!  re- 
member the  rough  life  he  has  led !  He  has  been  where 
there  is  no  law,  where  taking  human  life  was  just  no 
more  than  killing  a  wolf!" 

Eweretta  recognized  the  truth  of  her  companion's 
statement.  Awful  stories  had  reached  her  from  time 
to  time,  when  she  was  at  home,  of  murder  unredressed 
among  the  lawless  lot  her  uncle  had  at  one  time  been 
with.  She  remembered  her  father  saying  after  one  of 
these  tragedies,  "I  only  hope  your  Uncle  Thomas  has 
not  murder  on  his  soul!"  An  Englishman  whom 
Thomas  Alvin  had  induced  to  take  up  land  with  him 
had  mysteriously  disappeared.  The  two  men  lived 
together  during  one  summer  in  a  shack  they  had 
built  in  the  prairie  twenty  miles  from  Broadview. 
There  was  no  other  habitation  within  nine  miles. 

The  Englishman  disappeared.  Thomas  Alvin  sold 
the  land  and  the  stock  and  went  to  Chicago  for  a  year 
afterwards. 

"Our  only  hope  is  that  your  uncle  may  die, 
Eweretta,"  said  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  "then  I  would  speak 
and  tell  the  truth,  and  you  would  come  into  your 
own." 

"But  must  we  wait  till  then!"  gasped  poor 
Eweretta.  "Am  I  to  go  on  here  a  prisoner  for  years, 
within  reach  of  my  dear  Philip!  Ah,  Mrs.  Le  Breton, 
Philip  might  marry  someone  else — while  I — oh! 


76  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

surely  we  need  not  wait  for  Uncle  Thomas  to  die! 
He  may  live  for  years  and  years !" 

"He  won't."  answered  Mrs.  Le  Breton  enigmatically. 

"But  he  is  so  strong  and  well,"  persisted  Eweretta. 
"He  will  go  on  living." 

"He  won't,"  repeated  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  and  the 
wicked  look  came  back  to  her  face.  "He  has  begun  to 
drink." 

The  candle  had  burnt  down  unobserved  and  now, 
with  one  leap  of  brighter  light,  sank  and  went 
out. 

"Get  to  bed,"  said  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  "I  will  go  now. 
From  this  time  your  life  shall  be  made  bearable.  My 
last  word  to  you  is,  Hope !" 

Eweretta  looked  once  more  from  her  window  to- 
wards the  bungalow.  The  lights  were  out.  Then  she 
undressed  briskly  in  the  dark. 

She  felt  herself  now  that  she  was  not  drugged,  and 
could  think  clearly.  Hope  had  at  last  come  to  her, 
though  the  outlook  was  still  so  dark.  Mrs.  Le  Breton 
had  become  her  friend,  which  to  the  poor  girl  seemed 
nothing  short  of  a  miracle.  Mattie  was  her  friend. 
Surely  help  would  come  now! 

But  what  had  Mrs.  Le  Breton  meant  by  saying  that 
Uncle  Thomas  would  not  live  long? 

Had  he  some  mysterious  disease  that  did  not  show 
itself  outwardly?  or  would  drink  kill  him?  He  only 
drank  heavily  occasionally. 

Eweretta  did  not  meditate  escaping  now.  It  was 
true  that  did  she  do  so  her  uncle  might  revenge  him- 
self on  Mrs.  Le  Breton.  This  woman  had  wronged 
her  deeply,  but  she  was  repentant.  Eweretta  could 
not  bring  her  to  a  tragic  end.  Her  life  since  she  had 
known  John  Alvin  had  been  a  tragedy. 

Oh,  why  had  her  father  so  sinned?    He  had  been 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN    '  77 

a  loving  father  to  her.  He  had  been  so  different  from 
Uncle  Thomas.  How  could  he  have  so  cruelly 
wronged  a  woman  as  he  had  wronged  Mrs.  Le  Breton  ? 
How  could  he  have  turned  his  back  on  Aimee  ? 

All  this  Eweretta  felt  she  would  never  understand. 

What  she  did  understand  was  that  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  are  visited  upon  the  children. 

She  lay  upon  her  bed,  trying  to  gather  up  the  lost 
threads  of  a  lost  year,  a  year  in  which  she  seemed 
to  have  always  lived  a  dream  existence,  but  the  dream 
had  been  troubled  always. 

She  remembered  some  incidents  with  extraordinary 
vividness,  but  others  were  vague  and  unreliable.  All 
were  disconnected. 

Of  the  voyage  to  Liverpool  from  Montreal  she  could 
recall  nothing  except  the  boom  of  the  water  against 
the  berth  where  she  lay. 

One  of  the  things  she  remembered  most  distinctly 
was  seeing  a  girl  exactly  like  herself  lying  in  a  coffin, 
and  being  told  that  it  was  Eweretta,  and  that  she  was 
Aimee. 

She  remembered,  too,  that  her  uncle  had  struck  heri 
once,  because  she  would  not  call  Mrs.  Le  Breton  i 
"mother." 

It  was  during  the  last  days  when  she  had  starved 
herself  that  her  reasoning  faculties  had  once  more 
asserted  themselves,  and  she  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  she  was  constantly  drugged. 

She  knew  that  always,  whether  dazed  or  not,  she 
had  known  that  she  was  Eweretta,  and  not  Aimee, 
and  had  persistently  asserted  the  fact.  Only  within 
the  last  days,  when  the  action  of  the  drug  had  been 
stopped,  had  she  understood  fully  the  wrong  that 
had  been  done  her,  and  the  reason  for  it. 

Now,  thinking  hard  in  the  darkness,  she  saw  that 


78  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

she  must  act  warily  if  she  was  ever  to  reinstate 
herself. 

Uncle  Thomas  must  not  find  out  she  knew. 

She  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  appeal  she  had  made 
to  him.  But  he  had  been  under  the  influence  of  drink 
at  the  time  and  to-morrow  would  probably  know 
nothing  about  it. 

To-morrow  she  would  go  about  in  a  dazed  fashion 
and  mislead  him. 

Philip  was  near.  There  was  at  once  joy  and  pain 
in  the  knowledge  of  that. 

It  might  be  that  without  any  action  of  hers  he  would 
find  out. 

With  this  thought  she  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  LITTLE  WOOD 

AUGUST  was  a  blazing  month  this  year,  and  Philip, 
settled  in  his  charming  bungalow,  found  work  almost 
impossible.  Davis  made  iced  coffee  "enough  to 
swim  a  ship,"  he  averred.  But  even  with  this  stimu- 
lant, Philip  found  that  ideas  would  not  flow.  He 
tried  a  new  plan.  He  would  lie  in  a  hammock  all 
day  and  doze  and  sleep  by  turns,  and  work  all 
night. 

The  first  night  of  this  experiment  proved  a  failure. 
He  sat  down  to  his  American  roll-desk  (a  gift  from 
Uncle  Robert),  and  spread  out  his  sheets  of  manu- 
script. He  would  read  over  what  he  had  done,  and 
see  if  ideas  would  flow  on.  But  his  mind  appeared  to 
be  a  blank. 

In  desperation  he  got  up  and  went  out.  It  was 
near  midnight,  and  a  big  moon  rode  serenely  in  the 
night-blue  vault  above. 

His  feet  carried  him,  without  mental  consciousness 
of  the  fact,  across  the  field  that  led  to  the  White 
House. 

When  he  was  close  to  the  little  wood  he  heard  a 
clicking  sound,  which  arrested  his  attention.  Curi- 
osity caused  him  to  seek  for  the  cause. 

The  house  was  in  total  darkness,  but  within  the 
wood  was  a  faint  light  as  from  a  stable  lantern. 

Philip  crept  round  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  that 
79 


80  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

faced  Pickett's  Farm,  and  through  the  trees  saw  a 
man  in  shirt  and  trousers  laying  bricks. 

He  watched,  fascinated. 

He  had  been  right  in  his  idea  that  the  light  he  had 
noted  came  from  a  lantern.  One  of  unusual  size 
stood  upon  a  brick  wall,  which  was  in  progress  of  con- 
struction. By  its  aid  he  recognized  the  features  of 
Thomas  Alvin.  He  was  working  with  a  vigor  truly 
Canadian. 

What  could  he  be  building?  and  why  did  he  work 
at  night  ?  Philip  resolved  to  pay  other  nocturnal  visits 
to  watch  this  extraordinary  thing. 

But  he  was  destined  to  see  no  more  on  this  par- 
ticular night,  for  Thomas  Alvin  struck  work  with 
some  abruptness  and  disappeared,  having  put  out 
his  lantern. 

The  incident  served  to  set  the  novelist's  brain  work- 
ing, as  small  incidents  not  infrequently  do. 

He  would  go  back  and  write  chapter  eight,  which 
had  so  worried  him.  He  could  do  it  now. 

And  no  thought  of  the  girl  who  so  strangely  re- 
sembled his  lost  love  crossed  his  mind,  though  he  was 
so  close  to  her. 

Philip  had  a  way  of  being  very  keen  in  pursuit  of 
a  thing  until  some  obstacle  blocked  his  path. 

It  was  not  his  plan  to  walk  over  the  obstacle,  but 
to  turn  back.  He  had  been  very  keen  to  find 
Eweretta's  half-sister  and  befriend  her  for  the  sake 
of  his  first  love.  The  prosaic  and  large  Thomas  Alvin 
had  proved  an  obstacle.  Philip  did  not  consciously 
abandon  his  idea  of  being  of  use  to  Aimee,  but  he 
abandoned  it  all  the  same.  That  he  gave  no  thought 
to  the  girl  on  this  evening  was  an  indication  that  his 
romantic  intentions  were  done  with. 

It  was  a  curious  trait  in  Philip's  character  that  he 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  81 

never  knew  the  precise  moment  when  he  abandoned 
a  course  or  an  idea.  He  always  had  a  sense  of  shock 
in  discovering  that  he  had  done  so.  He  believed 
himself  the  most  consistent  and  unchangeable  of 
mortals,  and  every  change  of  front  that  he  discovered 
in  himself  shocked  him,  as  a  remarkable  deviation 
from  his  normal  steadfastness. 

Eweretta  had  (so  he  believed)  been  dead  a  year, 
and  his  heart  lay  buried  with  her.  He  had  wept 
genuine  tears  upon  her  grave.  He  had  vowed  him- 
self to  bachelorhood  for  her  sake. 

Yet  had  Philip  been  other  than  he  was,  had  he  in 
any  way  been  a  critic  of  the  workings  of  that  com- 
plex machine  which  was  his  personality,  he  would  have 
discovered  that  it  was  but  an  intermittent,  uncertain 
light  which  now  remained  of  the  flame  of  love  called 
up  by  the  pretty  Canadian  girl.  He  would  have  found 
it  out  by  the  fact  that  the  actual  sight  of  his  love's 
living  image  (though  he  had  believed  it  to  be  only 
Aimee)  had  not  moved  him  more.  He  had  not  had 
any  urgent  desire  to  see  Aimee  again  because  she  was 
like  Eweretta. 

He  would  have  found  it  out  in  his  keen  interest 
in  life  about  him,  in  his  work,  in  his  active  resentment 
of  his  mother's  possible  remarriage. 

A  dead  heart  is  apathetic. 

Philip  walked  back  across  the  field  with  a  sense  of 
elation,  because  the  spirit  of  his  work  was  active  once 
more. 

His  eyes  wandered  happily  over  the  moonlit  corn- 
fields at  Pickett's  Farm,  where  the  shocks  stood  like 
miniature  tents  of  a  soldier's  camp.  Waiting  for  the 
morrow  were  these  tent-like  shocks,  for  the  wagons 
would  be  coming  at  dawn  to  carry  them  away  to  be 
stacked. 


82  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

At  dawn  Philip  would  go  to  bed,  leaving  a  pile  of 
fair  manuscript  upon  the  desk  in  that  cosy  room — 
half  dining-,  half  sitting-room. 

Philip  had  said  to  himself  that  within  this  room 
he  could  sit  and  nurse  his  sorrow  after  work  was  over. 
As  yet  here  he  had  seldom  thought  upon  it,  and  had 
sometimes  quite  forgotten  it. 

Yet,  had  anyone  dared  to  tell  this  young  man  that 
he  was  getting  over  his  loss  with  surprising  rapidity, 
he  would  have  been  indignant. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  did  think  this.  That 
he  did  not  speak  of  Eweretta  only  made  his  friends 
and  associates  admire  the  stoic  heroism  which  -hid  a 
mortal  wound.  So  few  wounds  are  mortal! 

Philip  entered  the  wicket  gate  which  enclosed  his 
estate,  as  he  called  it;  noted  that  the  carnations  smelt 
deliciously,  and  that  his  stable  was  nearly  completed; 
then  went  into  his  bungalow,  pausing  at  the  kitchen 
door,  where  Davis  was  "clearing-up"  prior  to  going 
to  bed. 

Davis  made  a  point  of  clearing  up  at  night,  ready 
for  the  morning.  He  was  late  to-night,  for  his 
master  had  allowed  him  to  go  to  the  Ridge  Farm, 
where  the  Cinque  Ports  Territorials  were  camping. 

"Had  a  good  time,  Davis?"  inquired  Philip 
cheerfully. 

Davis  saluted. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  had  a  good  look  round,"  he  said. 

"Visited  the  cateen,  I  suppose?"  said  Philip. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  looked  in  and  sampled  the  beer.  It  was 
like  old  times  to  be  in  the  camp,  and  see  the  rows  of 
officers'  baths  outside  their  tents,  and  to  smell  the 
joints  cooking.  Going  to  work  all  night,  sir?" 

"Yes,  I  am  in  a  vein  now,"  answered  Philip.  "You 
have  remembered  the  coffee,  my  nose  tells  me." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  83 

"Yes,  sir." 

Philip's  desk  'was  close  to  an  open  window  that 
looked  across  the  verandah  and  over  the  garden  hedge 
to  the  fir  plantation  on  the  other  side  of  the  white 
road. 

A  shaded  lamp  filled  the  room  with  shadows. 

Philip,  taking  stock  of  scattered  mental  store,  his 
pen  poised  between  his  fingers,  feels  the  restfulness 
of  the  quiet  night  scene,  which  his  eyes  unconsciously 
record. 

Then  with  a  flash  comes  the  first  sentence,  and 
words  flow  in  a  steady,  unruffled  current.  The  work 
becomes  then  a  joy,  almost  an  intoxication,  and  there 
is  no  thought  of  the  battle  to  be  fought  later  with  the 
printed  page. 

The  grandfather  clock,  bought  in  the  High  Street 
in  the  Old  Town,  strikes  hour  after  hour.  Still 
Philip's  pen  flies  over  the  paper,  and  sheet  after  sheet 
of  manuscript  is  tossed  on  the  growing  pile,  till  at 
last  dawn  comes,  and  the  pen  is  dropped,  and  Philip, 
•with  a  weary  smile,  puts  out  his  lamp  and  throws 
himself  dressed  upon  his  bed,  to  fall  into  a  deep 
sleep. 

And  through  this  night  Eweretta  has  lain  sleepless, 
thinking  of  him,  sure  of  his  everlasting  love,  hoping 
with  that  hope  which  comes  mercifully  to  the  young 
to  carry  them  with  wings  over  the  rough  places  in 
life's  road  to  the  lands  that  always  look  so  fair  far  off. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   JUDGMENT   BY   APPEARANCES 

PHYLLIS  LANE  had  become  very  exasperated.  The 
Colonel's  irritability  was  phenomenal  since  that 
particular  evening  on  which  he  'had  been  rejected. 
He  took  his  daughter  severely  to  task  for  flirting  with 
Dan  Webster,  and  expressed  devoutly  his  wish  that 
his  daughter  was  safely  married,  and  to  a  man  strong 
enough  to  keep  her  in  order. 

Miss  Phyllis  would  toss  her  head  saucily  when  she 
heard  all  this,  and  answer  with  playful  banter. 

She  was  exasperated,  all  the  same. 

She  began  to  realize  now  that  the  startling  novelty 
was  over;  that  it  was  not  altogether  pleasant  to  be 
married  secretly  to  a  man  who  was  gone  to  India  for 
no  one  could  tell  how  long. 

It  would  be  ages,  too,  before  she  could  even  get  a 
letter  from  him.  (  She  had,  without  consulting  Philip, 
arranged  that  these  letters  should  be  enclosed  under 
cover  to  him.) 

One  morning,  after  a  particularly  sharp  contest 
with  the  Colonel,  Phyllis  got  on  her  bicycle  and  rode 
over  to  Gissing,  to  see  if  perhaps  Philip  had  a  letter 
for  her. 

She  had  told  no  one  where  she  was  going. 

Philip,  who  had  given  up  writing  at  night,  having 
found  the  experiment  too  wearing,  was  hard  at  work 
by  the  open  window,  when  the  aggressive  and  con- 

84 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  85 

tinued  ringing  of  a  bicycle  bell  caused  him  to  look 
up. 

Dismounting  at  the  gate,  the  fair  Phyllis  made 
straight  for  the  window,  where  Philip's  head  was  in 
full  view. 

She  nodded  with  an  air  of  camaraderie  as  she  fixed 
a  button  in  her  white  blouse. 

"I've  come !"  she  announced  rather  unnecessarily,  it 
would  seem. 

She  was  looking  very  charming,  though,  having  lost 
a  few  hairpins  during  her  ride,  a  tail  of  bright  hair 
lay  upon  one  shoulder. 

She  put  her  bicycle  against  the  privet  hedge  and 
advanced  to  the  open  window. 

"I'm  frightfully  thirsty,"  she  remarked. 

"Come  in  and  have  some  lemonade,"  he  told  her, 
"You  don't  deserve  any  for  interrupting  my  work." 

"You  ought  not  to  be  working  on  this  hot  day," 
she  said  with  decision,  "and  I  am  Providence  in  dis- 
guise, come  to  save  you  from  a  horrid  headache." 

"You  are  more  Fate  than  Providence,"  Philip  said 
laughing,  "to  more  than  one,  I  suspect.  But  come  in  I 
Davis  makes  delicious  lemonade.  It  is  kept  in  a. 
refrigerator. 

Miss  Phyllis  made  her  way  round  the  bungalow, 
and  was  soon  in  Philip's  cool  sitting-room,  and  making 
straight  for  the  mirror,  arranged  her  'hair,  while  she 
asked,  with  a  pretty  blush,  which  she  saw  reflected  in 
the,  glass :  "Have  you  a  letter  from  my  husband  for  me  ?" 

"I?  How  should  I  have  one?"  demanded  the  as- 
tonished young  man. 

"You  see,  I  told  Charlie  to  send  my  letters  to  you," 
she  answered  demurely. 

"You  have  made  me  an  accomplice  in  your  crime, 
then,  have  you?"  he  remarked,  as  he  gathered  up  the 


86  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

sheets  of  his  manuscript.  "I  shall  get  into  serious 
trouble  with  the  Colonel.  It  will  all  come  out,  you 
know,  about  this  marriage  when  the  vicar  comes  back 
and  looks  at  the  register." 

Phyllis  laughed. 

"The  vicar  is  not  coming  back  for  ages,"  she  said; 
"and  another  strange  man  is  taking  duty  now;  and 
heaps  of  other  people  are  getting  married  at  that 
church;  and  my  name  is  quite  a  common  one;  and 
visitors  come  here  often  to  get  married;  and — can't 
you  see,  silly!  it  is  most  unlikely  that  that  particular 
entry  will  get  noticed?  No  one  we  know  saw  us 
married.  The  witnesses  were  friends  of  Charlie's, 
and  were  soldiers,  and  soldiers  never  break  their  word. 
Oh!  do  ask  for  the  lemonade!" 

Philip  felt  as  if  he  had  been  suddenly  transported 
from  a  calm  lake  to  the  maelstrom.  Phyllis  and  calm 
were  impossible  to  be  considered  in  conjunction.  He 
resigned  himself  and  rang  the  bell. 

"I  am  going  to  stay  on  to  luncheon,"  announced 
this  self-willed  young  woman,  "so  you  may  as  well 
tell  Davis  when  you  ask  for  the  lemonade." 

"Are  you  aware  that  this  conduct  of  yours  is  very 
irregular,  young  woman?"  inquired  Philip  with  a 
whimsical  smile. 

"All  my  conduct  is!"  she  affirmed,  with  wide, 
innocent-looking  eyes  meeting  his. 

He  did  not  contradict  her.  After  all,  as  he  had 
already  decided,  it  was  better  that  Phyllis,  the  way- 
ward and  irrepressible,  should  play  the  fool  with  him, 
out  of  the  "danger  area,"  than  with  another.  She 
would  inevitably  play  the  fool. 

"Bring  some  lemonade,  Davis,"  he  said  to  the  ex- 
soldier;  "and  Miss  Lane  will  stay  on  to  luncheon." 

Davis  saluted. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  87 

"After  luncheon,  you  must  show  me  the  White 
House  and  Pickett's  Farm,"  Phyllis  next  said,  "and 
the  new  stable." 

Philip  glanced  despairingly  at  his  writing-table. 

"You  are  not  going  to  work  till  I  am  gone,"  the 
girl  said,  noting  the  glance. 

"I  am  sure  I  am  not,"  he  acknowledged. 

The  luncheon  of  cold  chicken,  with  a  salad  and  iced 
claret,  proved  much  to  the  young  woman's  liking, 
and  she  did  ample  justice  to  it.  Phyllis  had  a  good 
healthy  appetite. 

Afterwards  they  drank  coffee  in  the  verandah, 
and  Philip  smoked;  then  Phyllis  demanded  that  they 
should  go  out  and  see  the  White  House  and  the  farm. 

As  they  crossed  the  field,  Phyllis  linked  her  arm 
in  that  of  her  companion  and  began  to  talk  animatedly 
of  Charlie. 

Philip  did  not  find  all  this  particularly  interesting. 
To  hear  another  person's  perfections  dilated  upon 
seldom  is  to  anyone. 

As  they  neared  the  White  House,  they  saw  Mrs. 
Le  Breton  walking  with  Eweretta  in  the  garden. 

Both  women  saw  them,  and  the  elder  quickly  drew 
the  younger  one  away. 

"Was  that  poor  Aimee  Le  Breton?"  asked  Phyllis 
with  eager  curiosity. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.    "Come  away!" 

"What  a  pretty  girl!"  cried  Phyllis,  with  generous 
admiration.  "How  Dan  would  like  to  paint  her!" 
Then  lowering  her  voice  to  tones  of  sympathy,  she 
added:  "Was  Eweretta  really  like  that?" 

"So  like,  that  it  is  nearly  incredible,"  said  Philip. 
"We  won't  talk  about  it." 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  Phyllis  hastily.  "Forgive 
me,  Philip." 


88  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"See!  they  are  carrying  the  corn  over  there.  Let 
us  go  and  see  them." 

At  the  gate  of  the  field  Pickett  came  up  to  them, 
beaming. 

"Lucky  weather  for  me,  sir,"  'he  remarked.  "Last 
year  I  didn't  get  the  corn  up  till  the  first  week  in  Sep- 
tember, and  it  was  none  too  dry,  and  I  had  to  thresh 
direct  from  the  shocks,  for  I  hadn't  straw  to  thatch 
the  ricks,  or  for  bedding.  Of  course,  there  were 
advantages.  The  labor  of  building  ricks  and  undoing 
them  all  again  was  saved.  But  against  that,  in  thresh- 
ing from  the  shocks  the  grain  is  a  bit  soft  and  juicy. 
If  put  in  heaps  it  is  apt  to  heat  and  ferment.  There's 
a  pile  of  things  to  weigh  with  one  another,  sir.  How 
is  the  Colonel,  miss?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Phyllis,  a  little 
annoyed  to  be  recognized,  though  it  ought  certainly 
not  to  have  been  any  surprise,  for  Colonel  Lane  and 
his  daughter  were  old  residents  at  Hastings,  and  very 
well-known  figures  indeed. 

"If  Miss  Lane  would  like  to  look  round  the  farm, 
Mr.  Barrimore,  you  are  welcome  to  go  where  you 
like.  I'm  a  bit  too  busy  to  show  the  young  lady 
round  myself,  or  I  should  be  proud.  The  horses — 
that  is,  some  of  them — are  not  working  well.  I've 
had  them  up  from  grass  for  the  harvest;  they  swell 
with  grass  feeding,  and  the  change  to  oats  always 
upsets  them.  Well,  good-day  to  you,  sir!  Good-day 
to  you,  miss!" 

"What  a  talker  Mr.  Pickett  is !"  exclaimed  Phyllis, 
as  they  left  him. 

"Yes,  he  does  talk.  He  is  in  the  way  of  being  a 
gossip  too,"  said  Philip;  "but  he  is  a  very  good  sort, 
for  all  that." 

Mr.  Pickett  proved  Philip's  words  to  be  true  when 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  89 

he  went  home  to  tea — that  is,  as  to  his  being  a 
gossip. 

A  friend  from  Hastings — a  Mrs.  Hannington — had 
come  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Pickett  and  Minnie,  and  the 
farmer  entertained  them  all  with  his  news  about 
Mr.  Barrimore's  "young  lady." 

"Them  two  are  sweethearts,  if  I  know  anything," 
he  said  with  a  facetious  smile.  "Miss  Lane  had  hold 
of  his  arm,  and  they  seemed  mighty  cosy." 

"Miss  Lane  is  a  flirt,"  announced  Mrs.  Hannington 
with  disapproval.  "I've  seen  her  on  the  sea-front 
with  one  chap  after  another.  It  was  Captain 
Arbuthnot  a  bit  ago,  but  'he's  gone  away.  I  suppose 
she's  taken  up  with  Mr.  Barrimore  for  a  spell.  I 
wonder  the  Colonel  lets  her  carry  on  like  she  does! 
If  she  were  a  girl  of  mine  she  wouldn't  do  it!" 

Minnie  tossed  her  head  at  this.  She,  too,  had  been 
the  subject  of  Mrs.  Hannington's  disapproval  before 
to-day. 

"Miss  Lane  and  Mr.  Barrimore  have  been  as  good 
as  brought  up  together,  the  families  being  so  friendly," 
Minnie  observed. 

"And  supposing  they  have!"  broke  out  Mrs.  Han- 
nington. "It  isn't  right  and  proper  for  her  to  come 
to  his  house,  with  him  all  by  himself  like  he  is!  I 
don't  call  it  decent.  And  what  men  find  in  Miss 
Lane  /  can't  think.  She  isn't  pretty,  so  far  as  my 
eyes  tell  me.  Now,  that  girl  at  the  White  House 
has  looks.  I  saw  her  as  I  came  by." 

"Look  here,  Minnie!"  interruped  the  farmer. 
"Have  those  fowl-houses  had  a  coat  of  limewash 
to-day?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"And  was  some  paraffin  mixed  in  with  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 


90  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Well,  now,  I  asked  you  to  see  to  that,"  said 
Pickett  reproachfully.  "I  said  to  you  this  morning, 
'  I  want  you  to  see  to  them  fowl-houses  yourself, 
and  mind  there  is  paraffin  put  in  the  limewash,'  and 
I  said  it  was  to  be  put  on  hot,  and  the  runs  scraped 
and  cleaned,  and  coated  with  lime,  and  the  nest- 
boxes  limewashed,  and  all  the  litter  burned.  Them 
directions  were  plain  enough,  I  should  have 
thought !" 

"Minnie  has  been  plucking  and  trussing  fowls  for 
the  market  all  day,"  put  in  Mrs.  Pickett  in  defence. 
"She  has  done  a  good  day's  work." 

"There  won't  be  any  to  truss  if  the  fowl-houses  are 
neglected,"  rejoined  Pickett;  "but  let  us  have  tea. 
I  could  drink  the  sea  dry,  I'm  that  thirsty!  and  I 
daresay  Mrs.  Hannington  is  quite  ready  for  a  cup." 

"That  I  am,"  acknowledged  the  lady  with  a  broad 
smile.  "It's  hotter  than  I  ever  remember  for  years, 
anyway.  But  this  house-place  of  yours  keeps  cool. 
It's  the  flagged  floor,  I  suppose." 

Minnie,  who  brought  in  the  teapot  just  then, 
looked  hot  enough.  But  the  weather  had  not  much 
to  do  with  it.  Mrs.  Hannington  always  irritated  the 
girl,  and,  besides,  her  father  had  reproved  her.  But 
evening  would  come,  and  she  would  hear  a  whistle 
round  by  the  rickyard,  and  would  slip  out  into  the 
moonlight  to  meet  someone.  The  thought  came  as 
sweet  balm  to  her  spirits. 

There  was  little  balm,  however,  for  the  spirits 
of  poor  Eweretta. 

Eweretta  at  that  very  time  was  watching  from  her 
chamber  window,  watching  her  old  lover  and  Phyllis 
Lane  taking  tea  together  on  the  verandah. 

How  soon  men  forget! 


CHAPTER  XIV 
"AND  WHAT  A  NOBLE  PLOT  WAS  CROSSED" 

IT  was  the  habit  of  Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Mr.  Robert 
Burns  to  put  off  what  they  called  their  summer  holi- 
day until  September.  They  hated  to  leave  the  beautiful 
garden  at  Hawk's  Nest,  till  the  dahlias  came.  They 
loved  the  gathering  of  young  folks  about  them  for 
tennis  and  croquet,  and  devoted  one  afternoon  a 
week  to  this  entertainment,  going  in  turn  to  the 
garden-parties  of  their  friends. 

Phyllis  Lane  had  gone  about  always  under  the 
wing  of  Mrs.  Barrimore  since  she  had  been  left 
motherless,  and  had  always  been  as  the  daughter  of 
the  house  on  Mrs.  Barrimore's  "Wednesdays,"  pouring 
out  tea,  entertaining  less  familiar  guests,  playing  tennis 
or  croquet  when  one  more  was  needed  to  make  up  a 
"set,"  but  standing  out  if  enough  players  could  be 
found  without  her.  Altogether  Phyllis  was  a  very  use- 
ful as  well  as  attractive  presence  on  these  occasions. 

Now  it  had  been  on  a  Wednesday  that  Phyllis  had 
ridden  over  to  Gissing,  so  on  her  way  home  she  re- 
solved to  call  at  Hawk's  Nest  and  make  her  apologies 
and  explanations.  She  so  timed  her  visit  as  to  arrive 
at  about  six-thirty,  when  usually  the  last  guest  had 
departed. 

She  was  slightly  vexed  as  she  approached 
the  gate  to  see  several  smart  young  officers  from  the 
camp  just  leaving.  She  had  missed  some  fun  by  her 
escapade,  and  her  escapade  could  have  waited. 


92  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

On  the  croquet  lawn  Mrs.  Barrimore  was  stand- 
ing; very  sweet  she  looked  in  her  pearl-grey  crepe 
dress,  with  touches  of  coral  pink  in  it,  and  the  shady 
grey  hat.  But  the  girl  thought  there  was  a  wistful 
look  in  her  friend's  kind  eyes 

"Phyllis!  you  naughty  truant!"  Mrs.  Barrimore 
said  in  her  low  musical  voice,  as  the  girl  approached 
her.  "Where  have  you  been?  We  have  missed  you 
dreadfully." 

Phillis  clasped  both  arms  around  Mrs.  Barrimore's 
slender  waist  and  looked  up  into  her  kind  face  with 
roguish  contrition. 

"I  ran  away  to  pay  a  visit  to  Philip,"  she  said 
frankly.  "Dad  was  as  cross  as  two  sticks,  so  I  just 
made  up  my  mind  to  let  him  eat  his  luncheon  alone. 
Did  he  come?" 

"No,  dear;  but  you  should  not  have  gone  to  the 
bungalow  without  me,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore  in  gentle 
chiding. 

Uncle  Robert  and  Dan  Webster  suddenly  appeared 
from  between  the  trees  which  divided  that  part  of 
the  garden  from  the  tennis  lawn. 

"Hallo!  Phyllis!  a  day  behind  the  fair— eh, 
what?"  Uncle  Robert  called. 

Phyllis  scarcely  heeded  Uncle  Robert,  she  was  so 
astonished  at  the  appearance  of  Dan  Webster.  His 
eyes  were  no  longer  shaded,  and  she  saw  for  the  first 
time  how  merry  and  bright  they  were.  He  carried 
a  racket  and  was  wearing  flannels. 

A  feeling  of  acute  annoyance  succeeded  to  that  of 
surprise  in  the  mind  of  Phyllis. 

This  was  the  first  real  view  Dan  had  had  of  her, 
and  she  was  hot  and  dishevelled  from  her  long  cycle 
ride  in  dusty  iaiies. 

Phyllis  never  at  any  time  deceived  herself  regarding 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  93 

her  looks.  She  knew  that  she  was  not,  strictly 
speaking,  pretty;  but  she  knew  that  she  usually 
gave  other  people  the  impression  that  she  was  so. 
She  had  a  good  skin,  good  eyes,  and  a  wonderful  play 
of  expression.  She  knew  how  to  make  the  very  most 
of  every  point  she  had;  and  in  the  matter  of  dress 
had  coquetry  which  was  never  vulgar. 

But  now  poor  Phyllis  was  conscious  of  her  dusty 
serge  skirt,  her  crumpled  muslin  blouse,  her  damp, 
disarranged  hair.  She  had  also  more  than  a  sus- 
picion that  her  face  was  smeared  with  dust.  It  was 
hot  and  damp  from  cycling,  and,  of  course,  the  dust 
would  stick.  She  remembered  in  a  flash  that  a  motor- 
car had  covered  her  with  such  a  cloud  of  dust  that  she 
had  nearly  choked. 

Dan  Webster  came  up  smiling,  with  hand  extended. 

"Congratulate  me,  Miss  Lane,"  he  said  gaily,  "I 
am  no  longer  blind." 

"I  almost  wish  you  were!"  laughed  Phyllis  a  little 
hysterically,  "for  then  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  see  how 
untidy  I  am." 

Dan  laughed.  "I  am  a  cyclist  myself,"  he  told 
her,  "and  I  have  often  reached  home  looking  like  a 
tramp.  But  you  look  quite  fresh." 

Poor  Phyllis  winced  under  this  palpable  untruth. 

"I  must  hurry  home,"  she  said,  "or  dad  will  be 
anxious.  But  I  am  glad,  really,  Mr.  Webster,  that 
you  can  do  without  a  shade." 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Dan;  "but  I  am  sorry  too,  for 
it  means  the  end  of  a  delightful  holiday.  It  means 
going  back  to  work." 

"  'Who  first  invented  work,  and  bound  the  free 
and  holiday-rejoicing  spirit  down  ?'  "  quoted  Uncle 
Robert.  "It  was  Charles  Lamb  who  wrote  that,  I 
think.  Refuse  to  be  bound  down,  Dan!  Stay  and 


94 


enjoy  a  little  longer!     You  ought  to,  you  know,  for 
now  you  can  really  take  pleasure  in  things." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  stood  twisting  a  long  velvet  hat- 
string  in  her  slim  fingers.  She  spoke  now,  adding  her 
word  of  inducement. 

"It  would  not  be  fair  to  us  or  to  yourself,  Dan,  to 
run  away  just  when  your  eyes  are  better.  Stay  on 
at  least  a  few  days!" 

"I  want  you  to  put  my  handsome  face  on  record 
before  you  go,  too,"  put  in  Uncle  Robert. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  portrait  with  a  bathing- 
towel  round  your  neck,"  laughed  Mrs.  Barrimore. 

"A  good  idea!  a  very  good  idea,  my  dear  Annie!" 
cried  Uncle  Robert  with  a  hearty  laugh. 

"I  really  must  go,"  Phyllis  broke  in,  "  I  shall  be 
prettily  scolded!  Good-bye,  dear  Mrs.  Barrimore. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Burns — good-bye,  Mr.  Webster." 

She  ran  across  the  lawn  and  took  her  bicycle,  the 
three  following  to  see  her  ride  away. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  round  and  make  the  Colonel 
come  in.  He  has  forsaken  us  of  late,"  said  Uncle 
Robert. 

That  faint,  girlish  pink  came  and  went  in  Mrs. 
Barrimore's  face  as  her  brother  spoke,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"Dinner  is  at  eight  to-night,  isn't  it?"  asked  Mr. 
Burns. 

"Yes,  dear,"  answered  his  sister. 

"Then  I  shall  go  round  at  once  and  bring  the 
Colonel  to  dine,  and  little  Phil  too,  if  I  can  get  them. 
Let  the  servants  know,  Annie." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Dan  Webster  were  watching 
from  the  terrace  from  which  they  had  a  view  of  the 
drive  gate. 

It  was  not  till  a  quarter  to  eight  that  Uncle  Robert's 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  95 

voice  made  itself  heard  to  herald  the  advent  of  the 
trio.  Yes,  both  Colonel  Lane  and  Phyllis  were  with 
him.  It  was  observable  that  Phyllis  had  made  a  very 
careful  toilet.  She  had  evidently  resolved  to  remove 
the  impression  she  had  made  an  hour  or  two  earlier. 

Colonel  Lane  looked  tired  and  less  alert  than  was 
his  wont.  His  eyes  searched  the  face  of  Mrs.  Barri- 
more  with  an  appeal  like  that  in  the  eyes  of  a  dog. 
This  dear  woman  had  always  sympathized,  had 
always  understood. 

A  very  lonely  man  was  this  grizzled  soldier,  a  man 
who  had  outlived  relatives — and  comrades  whom  he 
had  loved.  Phyllis,  the  child  he  adored  now,  as  all 
left  to  him,  was  a  continual  thorn  in  the  flesh.  She 
was  flighty,  and  thoughtless,  and  she  flirted  with 
every  man  she  met.  Her  father  was  in  a  continual 
ferment  about  her.  His  anxiety  made  him  appear 
harsh,  whereas  he  had  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  world. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  had  refused  to  marry  him,  but 
she  had  promised  to  be  his  dearest  friend.  A  poor 
pittance  he  had  thought  it  at  the  time,  when  he  had 
longed  to  call  her  wife. 

But  to-night  he  felt  he  must  have  a  talk  with  this 
dear  woman,  a  close  talk,  that  he  might  find  a  little 
comfort.  He  was  glad  enough  when  Mr.  Burns  had 
come  to  ask  him  to  dine. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  saw  and  understood  the  look  in 
the  Colonel's  eyes,  and  she  answered  by  a  kindly, 
comprehending  glance.  She  would  give  him  a  chance 
to  unburden  his  mind. 

The  chance  came  without  her  making  it. 

After  dinner  Uncle  Robert  suggested  that  he, 
Dan  and  Phyllis  should  go  down  to  the  Parade  and 
listen  to  the  band,  and  that  Mrs.  Barrimore  should 
entertain  the  Colonel,  who  was  tired. 


96  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Uncle  Robert's  eyes  twinkled  with  delight  as  he 
departed  with  the  young  folks  in  tow.  He  felt  him- 
self an  arch  plotter. 

"  'And  what  a  noble  plot  was  crossed! 
And  what  a  brave  design  was  lost!' '' 

he  quoted  later  on,  when  he  found  that  his  dear  Annie 
had  no  secret  to  confide. 

Uncle  Robert,  who  was  quite  sure  that  his  sister's 
heart  was  in  the  Colonel's  keeping,  wondered  exceed- 
ingly that  she  should  not  take  the  chance  to  change 
her  mind,  which  he  felt  sure  would  be  offered  to  her 
on  this  evening.  He  was  very  irate  with  that  nephew 
of  his  for  domineering  over  his  mother.  Was  not 
Annie  Barrimore  still  young  and  beautiful? — and  had 
she  not  been  defrauded  of  love? 

Even  Philip,  whom  she  had  worshiped,  had  given 
her  but  little  return.  She  had  been  a  devoted  mother, 
unselfish  beyond  belief,  and  Philip,  of  course,  loved 
her.  But  he  was  "down"  on  her.  He  resented  her 
extreme  youth  fulness  of  appearance,  and  though  no 
art  helped  the  illusion,  still  in  some  unexplainable  way 
he  seemed  to  consider  it  her  fault. 

He  had  a  fixed  idea  that  it  was  indecent  for  the 
mother  of  a  grown-up  son  to  be  other  than  soberly 
middle-aged,  and  that  romance  at  her  time  of  life  was 
a  levity  to  be  firmly  put  down. 

And  his  mother  knew  quite  well  her  boy's  attitude 
of  mind,  and  bowed  to  his  will,  as  she  had  bowed  to 
his  father's  while  he  was  alive. 


CHAPTER  XV 
"STRONG  IN  WAR,  BUT  WEAK  IN  LOVE" 

ALONE  with  Mrs.  Barrimore  in  the  dimly-lighted 
drawing-room,  Colonel  Lane  did  not  begin  to  press 
his  suit  as  might  be  imagined.  He  had  accepted  her 
decree  as  final. 

They  sat  at  a  little  distance  from  each  other,  she 
on  a  low  couch,  and  he  in  a  basket-chair.  A  table, 
on  which  stood  a  pink-shaded  lamp,  was  between  them. 
He  began  to  speak  of  Phyllis. 

"I  wish  the  child  would  confide  in  you,  dear  Mrs. 
Barrimore,"  he  said.  "She  gives  me  no  confidence. 
It  is  probably  my  fault,  but  I  do  my  best.  It  seems 
to  me  that  it  is  a  woman's  work.  I  am  only  a  grim  old 
soldier." 

"Phyllis  has  probably  nothing  to  confide,"  Mrs. 
Barrimore  told  him  soothingly.  "Young,  innocent 
girls  like  Phyllis  don't  have  weighty  secrets." 

"Yet  I  have  a  suspicion  that  Phyllis  is  hiding  some- 
thing," said  the  Colonel  uneasily. 

"What  could  she  have  to  hide?"  inquired  his  com- 
panion. 

"That's  just  it — what?"  answered  the  Colonel. 
"She  made  a  terrible  fuss  when  I  would  not  allow 
her  to  become  engaged  to  young  Arbuthnot,  but  she 
got  over  it  with  surprising  quickness.  It  would  never 
have  done — that  engagement,  you  know — for  Phyllis 
will  be  in  and  out  of  love  a  dozen  times  yet.  I 
am  sorry  for  the  man,  though,  for  he  was  in  earnest, 

97 


98  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

and  he  is  gone  out  to  quell  a  native  rising  and  may 
lose  his  life.  A  fine  soldier,  young  Arbuthnot!  If 
Phyllis  had  stuck  to  her  guns,  I  might  have  given 
my  consent  when  he  came  back — if  he  ever  did,  poor 
fellow!  But  she  has  apparently  got  over  it  already. 
I  hoped  she  had  reverted  to  Langridge,  but  no! 
She  began  flirting  with  young  Webster  almost  at  once. 
She  has  been  somewhere  to-day  and  won't  say 
where." 

"That  is  the  spirit  of  mischief  in  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Barrimore.  "She  likes  to  tease.  She  told  me  where 
she  had  been.  She  went  over  and  saw  Philip." 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 

"I  told  her  she  ought  not  to  have  done  so,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Barrimore,  "unless  I  had  been  with  her. 
But  Philip  is  a  safe  friend  for  her.  Poor  Philip!  he 
will  never  get  over  the  loss  of  Eweretta!" 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  that,"  the  Colonel 
affirmed.  "In  these  days  young  folks  don't  love  as 
faithfully  as  when  I  was  young.  I  question  if  real 
love  ever  comes  to  the  very  young  nowadays — lasting 
love." 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  cheeks  flushed  with  that  delicate 
pink  at  these  words. 

Colonel  Lane  saw  the  color  come  and  go,  and 
loved  her  the  more  for  the  pure  heart  which  made 
those  pretty  blushes  possible  at  her  age.  It  was  this 
purity  of  nature  which  more  than  anything  else  kept 
Mrs.  Barrimore  so  young.  Her  grey  eyes  were  as 
guileless  as  a  child's. 

She  answered  hastily  as  if  to  ward  off  more  inti- 
mate words. 

"Oh,  but  Philip  is  not  like  others,"  she  said.  "He 
never  was,  even  as  a  child." 

Colonel  Lane  agreed.     No,   Philip  was  not  like 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  99 

other  men,  he  acknowledged,  but  mentally  he  judged 
it  good  for  the  others  that  he  was  not.  Philip,  in 
his  opinion,  was  upright  and  honorable,  but  conceited 
and  arrogant.  It  galled  the  Colonel  not  a  little  to  note 
the  way  in  which  this  young  man  patronized  and 
criticized  and  ordered  his  beautiful  mother. 

Perhaps  she  had  been  weak  in  her  boy's  early  years. 
She  had  been  too  fond,  too  kind  and  indulgent.  But 
Philip  grown  to  be  a  man  ought  to  understand  and 
recompense  her  love  better. 

The  Colonel  was  too  wise,  however,  to  ventilate  his 
views  on  Philip  to  his  mother. 

He  began  to  talk  of  Herbert  Langridge. 

"I  really  thought  Phyllis  meant  to  accept  Herbert 
Langridge  this  second  time,"  he  said.  "But  she  has 
lost  her  last  chance  in  that  direction.  Langridge  told 
me  quite  frankly  he  should  not  ask  her  again — or 
willingly  meet  her  any  more." 

"But  surely,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Barrimore,  "you 
would  not  wish  little  Phil  to  make  a  loveless 
marriage  ?" 

"Heavens!  no!"  he  answered.  "But  I  thought  at 
one  time  she  was  in  love  with  him." 

"Won't  you  smoke?"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore.  "You 
know  you  can;  and  I  think  a  man  looks  much  more 
comfortable  smoking." 

The  Colonel  pulled  out  a  pipe. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said;  "but  I  am  comfortable  here 
with  you.  It  is  so  good  to  chat  familiarly  with  a  dear 
friend — and  there  is  no  friend  like  you." 

Again  that  pretty  flush. 

"Why  don't  you  come  oftener,  then?"  she  asked. 
"I  am  always  so  glad  to  see  you." 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  be  glad !"  he  said. 

Then  a  silence  fell. 


ioo  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

The  Colonel  lit  his  pipe. 

"Home  is  pretty  lonely,"  he  said.  "A  house- 
keeper isn't  like  a  wife;  and  Mrs.  Ransom  is  a  par- 
ticularly hard,  dull  woman.  She  is  more  like  an  old 
maid  than  a  widow.  But  she  keeps  the  house  well." 

"Well,  that  is  what  you  want  her  for,  isn't  it?" 
Mrs.  Barrimore  said  smiling.  "And  Robert  and  I 
would  be  glad  if  you  spent  all  your  evenings  with  us. 
Come  in  as  you  used  to.  There  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not!" 

What  strange  creatures  women  were!  Could  not 
Annie  Barrimore  see  what  a  fierce  restraint  the  Colonel 
must  put  on  himself  if  he  were  to  be  constantly  in  the 
presence  of  the  woman  he  so  loved,  so  desired? 
Apparently  not!  To  her  it  seemed  natural  that  she 
and  he  should  fall  into  the  ranks  of  mere  friends. 
But  her  frank  eyes  told  him  that  to  her,  at  least,  it 
would  be  a  joy  to  see  him  every  day,  so  he  promised 
to  come  as  usual.  He  did  not  doubt  her  love  for  him. 
She  could  not  dissemble  if  she  would.  But  he  knew 
that  she  would  obey  what  seemed  to  her  to  be  the  call 
of  duty.  She  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  stand  by  that 
boy  of  hers,  that  boy  who  had  suffered  so  great  a  loss, 
and  needed  her. 

That  he,  the  Colonel,  thought  the  sacrifice  uncalled 
for  and  undeserved  did  not  lessen  his  admiration  for 
the  unselfish,  devoted  motherhood  which  he  saw  ex- 
emplified in  Mrs.  Barrimore. 

They  chatted  on  till  voices  made  themselves  heard 
from  the  garden.  The  trio  had  returned. 

"Shan't  I  just  take  a  rise  out  of  young  Philip!" 
came  in  Uncle  Robert's  voice.  "He  sniffed  at  my 
verses  and  said  I  should  never  get  the  book  published." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  smiled.  "Has  he  told  you?"  she 
asked  the  Colonel. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  101 

"Told  me  what?" 

"He  has  found  a  publisher  for  his  poems.  But 
don't  mistake  his  remark  about  Philip.  Philip  didn't 
'sniff/  as  Robert  calls  it.  He  said  publishers  fought 
shy  of  verses." 

But  Philip  had  "sniffed,"  for  all  that,  and  perhaps 
not  without  reason.  Robert  Burns  the  second  could 
rhyme,  but  he  was  not  the  poet  he  imagined  himself, 
and  it  had  required  the  aid  of  a  golden  key  to  unlock 
the  heart  of  a  publisher. 

The  trio  entered  the  drawing-room,  Uncle  Robert 
exclaiming  boisterously :  "You  have  won  your  bet, 
Annie!  I  couldn't  keep  my  secret.  I've  told  Dan 
and  Phyllis,  and  now  we'll  all  drink  success  to  'Wings 
and  Winds.'  Ah,  you've  won  your  bet,  Annie !  What 
was  it? — a  dozen  of  gloves?" 

"And  when  is  'Wings  and  Winds'  to  come  out, 
Burns?"  inquired  the  Colonel.  "I  congratulate  you 
heartily." 

"This  autumn,  my  friend,"  said  Uncle  Robert, 
beaming,  "and  Dan  is  going  to  work  round  some  of 
those  Johnnies  who  put  your  portrait  in  the 
illustrateds." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  now  led  the  way  to  the  dining- 
room,  where  a  silver  tray  with  glasses  was  placed  of 
an  evening. 

Uncle  Robert  following  with  the  Colonel,  whispered : 
"Can  I  congratulate  you  too?  Been  making  hay 
while  the  sun  shines  ?  Eh,  what  ?" 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head.  The  evening  had 
been  possibly  one  of  those  lost  opportunities  which 
we  all  know  about. 

"Cheer  up,  Cupid!"  whispered  Uncle  Robert. 
"  'Between  a  woman's  Yes  and  No,  There  is  not  room 
for  a  pin  to  go.' ' 


102  'THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

But  Colonel  Lane  did  not  take  comfort.  Brave  in 
war  he  had  shown  himself,  but  he  was  timorous  in 
love. 

So  sacred  was  this  woman  in  his  eyes,  that  he  felt 
like  entering  a  temple  when  he  came  into  her  presence ; 
and  she  had  forbidden — albeit  gently — his  nearer 
approach. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    BIRTH    OF    A    SOUL 

SEPTEMBER  was  nearly  out.  Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Mr. 
Burns  had  been  to  Scotland,  where  the  latter  had  a 
shooting-box  situated  amid  magnificent  scenery.  They 
had  returned  to  Hawk's  Nest  browned  and  in- 
vigorated. 

During  their  absence  many  things  had  happened. 
The  coming  out  of  "Wings  and  Winds"  was  not 
among  their  number.  The  book  was  to  see  the  light 
in  November. 

One  of  the  things  that  had  happened  was  a  great 
change  in  the  circumstances  of  Eweretta  Alvin. 

Unconscious  actors  in  this  drama  of  the  young 
Canadian's  life  had  practically  brought  about  this 
change. 

Disobedient  to  Mrs.  Barrimore's  gentle  direction 
that  Phyllis  should  not  go  alone  to  the  bungalow  at 
Gissing,  that  young  woman  had  been  there  constantly 
during  the  absence  of  her  friends. 

Eweretta,  who  had  had  no  drugs  given  to  her  from 
the  time  that  she  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  became  friends, 
had  time  after  time  seen  Phyllis  with  her  Philip,  ap- 
parently on  very  intimate  terms.  Added  to  this, 
Mattie,  the  servant  in  whom  she  had  once  confided, 
and  who  had  not  believed  her  story,  told  her  that 
Pierre  had  heard  at  Pickett's  Farm  that  young  Mr. 
Barrimore  was  engaged  to  Miss  Lane. 

103 


104  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Clearly,  Philip — Philip  the  ardent  lover  of  other 
days — had  forgotten. 

This  knowledge  did  not  prostrate  the  young  Cana- 
dian as  might  have  been  expected.  She  was  proud, 
proud  and  fearless,  when  herself,  unaffected  by  drugs. 

She  accepted  the  inevitable  with  amazing  outward 
calm,  and  instantly  decided  on  her  course  of  action. 

Thomas  Alvin,  since  that  night  when  he  had  struck 
the  girl,  'had  been  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 
Also,  during  his  drunken  bout,  he  had  firmly  believed 
he  had  seen  his  brother's  ghost,  the  father  of  the 
injured  girl,  which  'had  left  a  great  fear  upon  him. 
Consequently,  he  had  tried  in  his  rough  way  to  be 
kind  to  his  niece. 

Eweretta  had  a  sweet  and  gentle  nature  despite  her 
pride,  and  readily  forgave  an  injury,  so  she  had  not 
held  herself  aloof  from  her  uncle.  This  made  the 
carrying-out  of  the  plan  she  now  conceived  the  easier. 
She  had  been  waiting  near  the  entrance  to  the  en- 
closed wood  one  morning  for  her  uncle  to  come  out. 

He  was  still  at  work  constructing  something  in  the 
wood.  No  one  knew  what  the  thing  was,  and  he  locked 
the  gate  which  led  from  the  garden  carefully  after 
him  always. 

About  one  o'clock  Thomas  Alvin  came  out,  and 
seeing  his  niece  waiting,  looked  disconcerted. 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  for  a  few  minutes,  uncle," 
Eweretta  said  in  a  low  voice,  which  lacked  all  emotion. 

Alvin  had  become  accustomed  to  Eweretta's  normal 
condition  by  now.  He  concluded  that  she  no  longer 
struggled  in  an  unequal  contest,  and  had  succumbed 
to  the  inevitable.  He  was  utterly  unprepared,  how- 
ever, for  what  followed. 

He  stood  still,  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

"Let  me  say  all  I  have  to  say  without  interrup- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  105 

tion,"  Eweretta  began.  "To  begin  with,  I  accept 
the  position  in  which  you  have  placed  me;  I  shall 
trouble  you  no  more  to  let  me  take  my  rightful  place 
in  the  world.  All  that  would  have  made  it  of  value 
to  me  is  gone.  Philip  Barrimore  has  consoled  him- 
self. For  the  future  I  am  Aimee  Le  Breton.  But  I 
ask  you  to  let  me  be  free  as  other  girls  to  come  and 
go.  I  ask  you  to  do  away  with  the  stigma  that  rests 
on  me  as  poor  AimeVs  substitute.  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  treated  as  one  mentally  deranged.  Give  it  out  that 
I  have  recovered  if  you  will,  but  give  me  at  least  a 
chance  to  make  my  life  bearable.  In  return,  I  promise 
not  to  betray  you." 

Alvin  was  astounded. 

"Do  you  mean  this,  Eweretta?  You  will  never 
attempt  to — " 

"I  have  already  told  you,"  interrupted  Eweretta. 
"Let  me  come  and  go  as  other  girls;  it  is  all  I  ask. 
Why  should  I  be  kept  a  prisoner?  You  have  my 
fortune,  and  I  shall  not  interfere  with  you." 

Alvin  stared  at  the  girl  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
his  senses.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"It  shall  be  as  you  say,  Eweretta,"  he  said.  "But 
if  you  play  me  false — well,  you  know  me." 

"I  shall  not  play  you  false,"  she  said  simply,  "and 
from  now  never  use  the  name  Eweretta  again,  or  you 
will  betray  yourself'1 

As  she  spoke  she  glanced  over  the  garden  hedge. 

"Look,"  she  said,  "and  you  will  see  why  I  must 
never  rise  from  the  dead." 

Philip  Barrimore  and  Phyllis  Lane  were  crossing 
the  field,  walking  towards  Pickett's  Farm.  Phyllis 
had  her  arm  linked  through  Philip's. 

Then  Alvin  understood. 

Perhaps  the  first  real  pity  he  had  ever  felt  for  a 


io6  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

human  creature  possessed  him  just  then.  From  his 
earliest  infancy  his  hand  had  been  against  everyone 
and  everyone's  hand  against  him.  Ill-luck  had 
dogged  his  every  step  and  embittered  him.  He  had 
come  to  think  himself  a  sport  of  the  gods.  All  tender- 
ness had  been  strangled  in  its  birth.  "Tooth  and 
claw,  tooth  and  claw,"  he  had  told  himself;  there 
was  nothing  else  for  him.  And  he  'had  stolen  this 
girl's  fortune.  He  had  wrecked  her  life.  He  had 
treated  her  brutally. 

As  her  hand  indicated  the  two  young  people  talking 
together  confidentially  as  if  lovers,  his  heart  smote 
him. 

Eweretta,  pale  and  beautiful,  calm  as  one  who 
knows  there  is  nothing  left  to  hope  for,  moved  him  as 
he  had  never  before  been  moved.  He  also  felt  an 
intense  self-pity.  If  anyone  had  ever  loved  him  as 
Eweretta  had  loved  that  man,  he  might  not  have  been 
what  he  was. 

"Eweretta,  I  am — sorry  for  you,"  was  all  he  found 
to  say. 

But  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke  was  one  the  girl  had 
never  before  heard  from  him. 

With  ready  sympathy  she  extended  her  hand  to  the 
man  who  had  so  wronged  her. 

"No!  no!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  can't!  Eweretta, 
I  have  been  a  brute  to  you." 

"Let  us  forget  it,  uncle.  Let  us  forget  it  all," 
cried  the  girl,  genuinely  touched.  "You  never  had 
a  chance.  You  never  had  a  friend.  I  will  care  for 
you." 

Never  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life  had  Thomas 
Alvin  had  sympathy  shown  him  before,  and  now  it 
came  from  his  victim — the  girl  he  had  defrauded  of 
all. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  107 

It  was  as  if  a  soul  had  agonized  birth  in  him  at  that 
moment. 

Such  a  divine  forgiveness ! 

The  thought  of  it  filled  him  with  a  tempest  of 
self -accusation,  of  regret,  of  new-born  devotion. 

"Eweretta,  I  will  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  will 
give  up  all.  I  will  tell  Philip  Barrimore.  He  will 
come  back  to  you !"  he  exclaimed. 

The  girl's  face  took  on  a  look  of  pain. 

"No,  uncle,  no,"  she  said  very  gently.  "I  would 
not  again  be  Eweretta.  I  would  not  spoil  the  hap- 
piness of  those  two.  Philip  believes  me  dead.  Let 
him  go  on  believing  it.  Let  him  live  his  life.  Don't 
you  see  that  if  Philip  knew  that  I  was  myself,  and 

not  Aimee,  he  would  feel  obliged  to Oh,  I  can't 

bear  to  think  of  it !  He  has  taught  himself  to  forget. 
We  could  never  be  what  we  were  to  each  other. 
And  how  could  I  make  that  other  girl  suffer  what  I 
have  suffered  ?  As  to  the  money,  I  give  it  you  freely. 
I  live  here.  I  have  all  I  want  except  my  freedom.  I 
want  to  go  out — to  be  as  others." 

"And  by  heaven  you  shall !"  exclaimed  Alvin. 

It  was  no  passing  emotion,  this  complete  change  of 
front  in  Alvin. 

To  the  pariah,  the  outcast,  who  receives  smypathy, 
comes  a  devotion  unimaginable  to  those  who  have 
always  had  friends.  From  that  moment  Alvin  became 
possessed  of  a  dog-like  devotion  to  Eweretta. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  could  not  in  the  least  understand 
it.  She  was  not  a  woman  of  great  intelligence.  To 
her  mind  Thomas  Alvin  had  been  born  not  merely 
unlucky,  but  a  "bad  lot."  But  to  her  mind  his 
brother  had  been  a  worse  man  than  he.  John  Alvin 
had  not  been  born  an  unlucky  number.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded in  life.  But  what  had  he  been?  Had  he  not 


io8  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

left  her  and  her  child  to  starve?  Had  not  his  aban- 
donment of  herself  in  her  extremity  caused  poor 
Aimee  to  be  what  she  had  been  ? 

The  chance  words  of  a  midwife  had  cursed  Thomas 
Alvin.  When  he  had  been  born,  this  woman  had 
said,  "The  thirteenth  child  is  always  unlucky," 
and  the  silly  mother  had  harped  upon  it,  in  the  boy's 
hearing,  harped  on  it  constantly,  till  the  boy  had 
come  to  believe  in  it.  From  a  very  early  age  he  had 
decided  that  nothing  he  did  greatly  mattered,  as  he 
was  predestined  to  ill-luck.  Neither  he  nor  anyone 
else  seemed  to  realize  that  it  was  his  attitude,  his  ac- 
ceptance of  a  superstition  that  accounted  for  the  ill- 
luck  that  had  ever  pursued  him. 

Thomas  Alvin  had  been  bitterly  envious  of  his 
brother  John.  All  that  John  touched  had  prospered. 
John  had  grown  rich.  Yet  he  had  not  been  immacu- 
late. He  had  betrayed  a  trusting  woman.  He  had 
forsaken  her  and  the  child  of  their  guilt.  The  woman 
had  had  to  mend  shoes  to  keep  life  in  herself  and  her 
half-witted  daughter. 

When  Thomas  had  applied  to  his  brother  for  a  little 
help,  after  he  had  been  suffering  from  frost-bite,  John 
had  spurned  him  from  the  door.  Yet  John  had  the 
good  opinion  of  all.  John  had  no  doubt  very  good 
reasons  for  refusing  to  help  his  good-for-nothing 
brother.  (The  story  of  Mrs.  Le  Breton  had  not 
reached  Montreal,  where  John's  fine  house  was 
situated.) 

John  was  handsome.  It  was  from  him  that  both 
Eweretta  and  Aimee  had  got  their  looks.  The  girls 
.were  refined,  feminine  repliques  of  their  father. 

The  likeness  Eweretta  bore  to  the  hated  John  had 
made  the  task  of  Thomas  the  easier.  He  hated  her 
because  she  looked  at  him  with  John's  eyes.  The  plot 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  109 

to  rob  the  girl  of  money  and  liberty  had  seemed  to 
Thomas  a  right  and  just  retribution  at  the  time 
when  he  conceived  it.  The  wrongs  of  both  Mrs. 
Le  Breton  and  himself  would  be  avenged  by  the  sub- 
stitution of  Eweretta  for  Aimee.  If  Eweretta  suffered, 
well  and  good.  Did  not  the  Bible  say  that  children 
had  to  suffer  for  the  sins  of  their  fathers?  Besides, 
had  not  Eweretta  had  all  the  sweets  of  life  up  to 
the  time  of  her  father's  death?  Had  she  not  had 
education,  travel,  fine  dresses  and  a  carriage  to  ride 
in?  Let  her  taste  what  her  father's  victims  had 
tasted ! 

This  had  been  the  attitude  of  Thomas  Alvin,  and 
Eweretta' s  gentle  words,  above  all,  the  tone  in 
which  they  had  been  uttered,  had  completely  changed 
it. 

There  are  people  who  refuse  to  believe  in  "con- 
version," which  is  the  sudden  and  complete  over-turn 
of  one  kind  of  life  for  another.  "Can  the  leopard 
change  his  spots?"  they  ask. 

Yet  there  is  such  a  thing  as  moral  earthquake. 
Some  great  emotion  sunders  the  hard  rock  of 
character;  rifts  appear,  from  which  issue  new  and 
altogether  undreamt-of  impulses. 

As  natural  earthquakes  change  the  conformation 
of  the  land,  so  moral  earthquake  can  change  the 
characteristics  of  a  human  being. 

"Let  us  forget  it !    You  never  had  a  chance !" 

Few  words  and  simple  ones,  yet  a  new  man  arose  at 
the  sound  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHAT   A   DOG'S   LEASH    PREVENTED 

PHILIP  BARRIMORE'S  new  book  was  growing  to  his 
full  satisfaction  under  his  pen,  despite  the  fre- 
quent interruptions  occasioned  by  the  visits  of 
Phyllis  Lane. 

Phyllis  had  received  one  letter  from  her  husband — 
a  cheerful  letter,  which  touched  only  lightly  on  the 
dangers  he  was  going  to  encounter  in  quelling  the 
native  rising — the  purpose  for  which  he  had  been  sent 
out.  He  did  earnestly  beg  permission  to  inform 
Colonel  Lane  of  their  secret  marriage,  expressing 
regret  that  they  could  not  have  been  open  about 
it  all. 

This  angered  Phyllis.  She  knew  that  she  alone 
was  responsible  for  the  secret  marriage.  She  had 
clamored  for  it;  she  had  insisted,  even  with  tears, 
partly  because  she  wanted  to  prove  to  her  father 
that  she  was  a  young  woman  not  to  be  thwarted, 
and  partly  because  the  spice  of  romance  appealed 
to  her. 

No,  she  would  certainly  not  give  Charlie  permission 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  she  told  Philip.  It  was 
really  very  unkind  of  Charlie  to  worry  her  like  this, 
when  he  must  know  that  she  had  quite  enough  to 
bear,  thinking  of  him  "millions  and  millions  of  miles 
away,"  and  very  likely  getting  himself  killed  by  those 
horrid  natives. 

That  was  the  way  Phyllis  had  spoken  to  Philip, 
no 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  in 

But  she  had  written  over  about  a  quire  of  paper  to 
her  husband,  using  the  most  extravagant  endear- 
ments, but  telling  him  that  if  he  wanted  to  make  her 
bear  all  the  brunt  of  their  escapade  by  herself — well, 
he  had  only  to  do  what  he  proposed  and  inform  her 
father. 

She  walked  down  to  the  General  Post  Office  with 
this  precious  letter  to  get  it  weighed  before  posting. 

As  she  was  fixing  the  stamps,  who  should  enter  the 
office  but  Colonel  Lane  himself.  Close  behind  him 
was  a  woman,  who  had  a  dog  on  a  leash. 

Colonel  Lane  looked  with  some  curiosity  at  the 
address  of  the  letter  which  required  so  much  extra 
postage. 

Then  he  saw. 

He  would  not  make  a  scene  in  a  public  place.  He 
would  follow  his  daughter  outside,  and  ask  her  not 
to  post  the  letter  till  they  had  had  a  little  conversation 
about  it. 

But  Phyllis  turned  and  looked  over  her  shoulder, 
and  seeing  her  father,  darted  laughingly  to  the 
door. 

Colonel  Lane  was  about  to  follow  when  his  foot 
caught  in  the  leash  of  the  dog,  and  he  had  to  dis- 
entangle himself. 

Consequently,  .when  he  emerged,  it  was  to  see  his 
daughter  coming  empty-handed  from  the  first  of  the 
two  big  letter-boxes. 

She  glanced  up  from  under  an  enormous  hat-brim 
and  smiled  saucily. 

"Going  anywhere,  dad?"  she  inquired  innocently, 
as  she  tried  to  button  a  glove  which  was  a  trifle  too 
small. 

"I  was  going  over  to  Brighton,"  he  answered 
briefly. 


ii2  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Oh!  then  why  change  your  mind?"  inquired 
Phyllis. 

"Because  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  letter 
you  have  just  posted." 

They  had  started  walking  in  the  direction  of  the 
Clock  Tower,  and  instead  of  taking  the  way  to  the 
railway  station,  Colonel  Lane  piloted  his  daughter 
across  the  tram  lines,  past  the  side  of  the  Queen's 
Hotel,  and  across  to  the  spot  where  the  two  Al- 
bertines  were  hauled  up. 

Phyllis  knew  quite  well  that  her  father  was  seeking 
the  long  seat  opposite  the  "Albany,"  where  they 
could  sit  and  talk  unobserved,  for  at  this  hour  the 
band  was  playing  higher  up  on  the  Parade,  and  it 
was  there  that  the  holiday  crowd  gathered. 

Phyllis  had  guessed  rightly,  for  coming  to  the  seat 
that  runs  the  full  length  of  the  enclosed  garden  in 
front  of  the  "Albany,"  Colonel  Lane  suggested  that 
they  should  sit  down. 

Phyllis  was  far  from  comfortable. 

"I  am  sorry  that  my  little  girl  should  deceive  me," 
began  the  Colonel  in  pained  tones. 

"Oh,  don't  be  cross!"  said  Phyllis,  tugging 
viciously  at  a  lace  scarf  which  she  was  wearing,  and 
which  had  caught  on  a  button  of  her  blouse.  "There ! 
now  I  have  torn  it!"  she  exclaimed. 

"You  know  that  you  and  Captain  Arbuthnot 
were  not  to  hold  any  communication  during  his 
absence,"  went  on  the  Colonel,  ignoring  his  daughter's 
remarks.  "It  is  not  treating  that  young  man  fairly — 
or  me." 

"Oh,  dad,  let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  broke  out 
Phyllis. 

The  Colonel  began  to  lose  patience.  "I  shall 
write  to  Captain  Arbuthnot,"  he  said,  "and  express 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  113 

a  wish  that  he  leaves  your  letter  unanswered.  He  is 
a  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  and  will  understand. 
Women  have  no  sense  of  honor." 

(The  speaker  made  a  mental  reservation  in  favor 
of  Mrs.  Barrimore.) 

"Any  more  for  the  motor  boat?"  shouted  a  boat- 
man in  raucous  tones.  "Come  and  have  a  jolly  sail! 
We're  just  a-going  to  start !" 

"Oh,  dear!  do  go  to  Brighton  and  leave  me  in 
peace !"  cried  Phyllis.  "You'll  see  some  day  the  mis- 
take you  have  made  in  your  treatment  of  me!  You 
complain  that  I  deceive  you,  but  you  force  me  to  do 
it !  I  love  Captain  Arbuthnot." 

"My  dear  child,  you  think  you  do.  If  I  were  sure 
this  love  you  speak  of  would  be  lasting,  I  would  act 
quite  differently.  Let  us  see  it  properly  tested  by 
absence  and  by  silence.  If  when  Captain  Arbuthnot 
comes  back  from  India  you  are  both  of  the  same 
mind,  I  will  make  no  further  objection.  Is  not  that 
enough?" 

"You  will  get  a  big  surprise  when  he  does  come 
back,"  muttered  Phyllis. 

Just  then  to  the  girl's  great  relief  Mrs.  Barrimore 
and  Mr.  Burns  came  up. 

Uncle  Robert  was  in  a  state  of  pleased  excite- 
ment. 

"Do  come  to  the  bandstand!"  he  panted.  "Come 
at  once,  and  I  will  show  you  the  most  beautiful  girl 
in  the  world!" 

"It  is  poor  Eweretta's  half-sister,  Aimee  Le  Breton," 
explained  Mrs.  Barrimore.  "She  is  with  her  uncle, 
listening  to  the  music.  I  think  she  is  surpassingly 
beautiful,  and  now  I  do  not  wonder  that  poor  Philip 
is  consecrated  to  Eweretta's  memory.  I  never  saw 
Eweretta,  but  I  am  told  that  the  sisters  were 


n4  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

remarkably  alike.  It  has  been  a  lasting  regret  of 
Philip's  that  he  had  no  photograph  of  Eweretta." 

Uncle  Robert  beamed  as  a  thought  crossed  his  mind, 
to  which  he  gave  instant  expression. 

"Dan  shall  paint  Aimee  Le  Breton !"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  bring  it  about,  and 
I  will  give  the  picture  to  Philip." 

"But  this  poor  girl  is  not — quite  right,  I  under- 
stand," said  the  Colonel.  "I  hear  that  no  one  is  al- 
lowed to  visit  her." 

"A  big  mistake — now,  anyway,"  vociferated  Uncle 
Robert.  "She  is  out  like  anyone  else,  and  looks  as 
sane  as  you — but  sad.  Yes,  there  is  no  doubt  she 
looks  sad.  A  lovely  girl!  Won't  Dan  like  his  job! 
The  old  uncle  is  a  rough  sort  of  fellow,  but  he  an- 
swered quite  pleasantly  when  I  spoke  to  him.  I  didn't 
tell  him  who  I  was,  though.  Come  along  and  see  them 
before  they  go." 

Eweretta  was  seated  on  a  deck-chair  near  the  band- 
stand. She  was  wearing  a  white  serge  costume  and  a 
big  white  hat,  which  set  off  her  dark  beauty  and  won- 
derful complexion.  The  sea  air  had  given  color  to  her 
otherwise  pale  face.  She  looked  almost  out  of  place 
with  her  uncouth  companion. 

Phyllis,  who  had  already  caught  sight  of  her  in 
the  garden  of  the  White  House,  was  amazed  at  the 
change  in  her. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  whispered  to  Mrs.  Bar- 
rimore,  "if  Philip  falls  in  love  with  her,  as  she  is  so 
like  Eweretta." 

"Ah,  no!"  said  the  mother.  "Philip  will  remain 
faithful.  Moreover,  that  poor  girl  ought  never  to 
marry  anyone.  She  may  any  time  fall  back  into  her 
former  condition." 

It  was   the  morning   following   this   evening   that 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  115 

Philip  received  a  note,  delivered  by  Pierre,  which  a 
good  deal  surprised  him.  It  was  from  Thomas  Alvin, 
expressing  regret  at  the  manner  in  which  he  had  re- 
ceived Philip,  the  day  he  had  been  so  kind  as  to  call. 
It  told  him,  too,  a  fact  Philip  had  already  heard,  that 
Miss  Le  Breton  (by  which  name  he,  of  course,  called 
Eweretta)  had  made  a  complete  recovery. 

Thomas  Alvin,  in  his  new-born  affection  for  his 
niece,  had  conceived  the  idea  of  giving  her  another 
chance  to  win  back  her  lover  by  letting  the  young 
people  meet  again,  and  this  letter  was  a  preliminary 
move  in  the  game. 

As  for  the  intimacy  between  Philip  and  Miss  Lane, 
which  everyone  was  saying  was  an  engagement,  Alvin 
did  not  trouble  himself  in  the  least.  Philip  belonged 
to  Eweretta.  If  there  was  any  stealing  away  of  a 
lover,  then  Miss  Lane  was  the  thief.  If  Philip  should 
once  more  love  Eweretta — though  he  believed  her 
to  be  Aimee — then  much  of  the  wrong  inflicted  upon 
the  girl  would  be  undone. 

But  Eweretta  Alvin  knew  nothing  of  all  this. 

Eweretta's  attitude  after  that  interview  .with  her 
uncle  in  which  she  had  capitulated  had  been  one  of 
extreme  reserve — on  the  one  point,  at  least.  Alvin 
could  not  understand  her.  The  women  he  had  known 
had  loudly  proclaimed  their  griefs.  Eweretta  herself 
had  had  more  than  one  hysterical  outbreak  at  the 
time  when  drugs  were  constantly  given  to  her.  But 
Eweretta  without  the  drugs  was  a  very  different  person. 

Alvin  had  scarcely  seen  her  up  to  the  time  of  her 
father's  death,  and  knew  nothing  of  her  natural 
characteristics.  He  concluded  that  as  she  was  cer- 
tainly not  an  Alvin,  she  must  take  after  her  mother's 
family.  He  had  never  even  seen  Eweretta's  mother. 
But  he  had  heard  that  she  was  a  woman  of  great 


ii6  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

refinement  and  reserve.  He  had  heard,  too,  that 
knowing  her  husband's  infidelity,  she  had  never  opened 
her  lips  upon  the  subject,  but  had  quietly  and  silently 
died. 

Alvin  did  not  mean  for  Eweretta  to  follow  her 
example.  The  kind  look  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  had 
spoken  those  memorable  words  which  showed  him 
what  Divine  forgiveness  could  mean  had  worked  a 
miracle  in  Alvin.  He  was  reclaimed  to  human  feeling 
by  being  taught  that  he  was  a  man  still,  recognized 
and  treated  as  a  man.  For  the  first  time  he  had  felt 
that  he  was  not  despised,  and  his  heart  had  opened 
in  a  tide  of  affection  and  generosity. 

If  Alvin  failed  to  understand  Eweretta,  she  was 
even  more  of  a  riddle  to  Mrs.  Le  Breton. 

"I  shall  call  you  'mother'  now,"  Eweretta  had  said 
to  her,  after  briefly  explaining  her  changed  conditions, 
"and  I  will  try  to  be  as  a  daughter  to  you." 

Mrs.  Le  Breton's  ideas  of  a  daughter  were,  to  begin 
with,  full  confidence.  This  Eweretta  withheld. 

Apparently  the  girl's  one  idea  was  to  bury  the  past, 
and  take  her  place  in  the  household  as  if  really  the 
girl  Aimee  whom  she  personated.  She  evidently  had 
no  intention  of  brooding  and  moping.  She  asked  her 
uncle  for  a  piano,  which  was  immediately  purchased 
at  Hermitage's  in  Robertson  Street.  She  also  accom- 
panied both  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and  her  uncle  on  their 
excursions  into  Hastings,  and  showed  an  interest  in 
her  clothes.  She  was  behaving  in  every  way  as  a 
normal  young  woman. 

But  Mrs.  Le  Breton  felt  her  own  life  very  consider- 
ably brightened  by  the  change. 

So  this  is  how  it  came  about  that  "Miss  Le  Breton" 
was  seen  on  the  Parade,  listening  to  the  band. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PHILIP   SITS   IN   JUDGMENT 

"PHILIP  will  get  his  book  out  before  mine  if  my 
publishers  don't  look  sharp,"  grumbled  Mr.  Burns  to 
his  sister. 

Philip  had  ridden  over  on  his  hired  mare  Soda, 
and  had  had  tea  at  Hawk's  Nest,  and  ridden  back 
directly  afterwards. 

"I  wish  Philip  would  not  work  so  hard,"  said  the 
mother  anxiously.  "He  has  had  no  holiday  this 
summer." 

"What  said  Bismarck?"  replied  Uncle  Robert 
"  'To  youth  I  have  but  three  words  of  counsel — 
Work,  work,  work !'  ' 

Mrs.  Barrimore  laughed  girlishly.  "Ah,  Robert!" 
she  said,  "Bismarck  also  said,  'A  good  speaker  must 
be  somewhat  of  a  poet,  and  cannot  therefore  adhere 
mathematically  to  the  truth.'  It  is  not  good  for  youth 
to  work  without  amusement  to  break  it.  Philip  has  no 
amusements.  It  can't  be  good  for  him." 

"It  is  not,"  acknowledged  Mr.  Burns.  "I  observed 
to-day  that  Philip  is  putting  on  flesh.  He  will  get 
stout  if  he  does  not  take  exercise." 

"He  rides,"  defended  Mrs.  Barrimore. 

"Rides!"  echoed  her  brother.  "He  ought  to 
walk  and  play  cricket  and  swim !" 

"But  his  work  takes  it  out  of  him.  He  is  too  tired 
for  these  things,"  objected  the  mother.  "But  he 

117 


n8  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

ought  to  go  to  a  play  sometimes.  We  get  very  good 
companies  down  here." 

"Bah!"  answered  Uncle  Robert.  "Stuffy  theatres 
are  no  good.  What  Philip  wants  is  open-air  exercise. 
Look  at  me!" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  did  so,  and  laughed  again  softly. 

"You  are  stout,  you  know,"  she  told  him. 

"So  I  am,"  he  acknowledged,  "but  I  should  become 
an  elephant  if  I  didn't  exercise.  'Upon  what  meat 
doth  this  our  Caesar  feed,  that  he  is  grown  so  great?' 
Annie,  why  don't  you  prevent  me  from  eating 
potatoes!  And  Dan  is  coming  back  to-morrow  to 
paint  my  portrait!" 

"What  time  is  Dan  coming?"  inquired  Mrs.  Barri- 
more. 

"In  time  for  dinner.    I  asked  Philip  to  come." 

"Did  you  know  that  Colonel  Lane  was  coming?" 

"No.     But  the  more  the  merrier." 

"But — "  Mrs.  Barrimore  hesitated.  "But  you 
know  Philip  is  always  vexed  to  find  Colonel  Lane 
here."  Her  face  flushed  pinkly. 

"If  Philip  don't  like  it  he  can  lump  it,"  said 
Uncle  Robert  curtly.  "Philip  is  too  masterful,  too 
overbearing.  He  would  like  to  regulate  even  me! 
I  think,  Annie,  that  you  have  been  unkind  to  the 
Colonel." 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  sweet  mouth  became  tremulous. 
"I  think,  dear,"  she  said,  "that  we  agreed  not  to 
speak  of  that.  Colonel  Lane  and  I  are  very  good 
friends — oh,  yes,  very.  He  does  not  think  me  un- 
kind." 

"I  call  it  all  tommy-rot,"  said  Uncle  Robert,  "to 
spoil  your  life  and  that  good  fellow's,  just  because 
Philip  has  an  objection  to  your  remarriage." 

"Do  you  know  that  Phyllis  suggested  that  perhaps 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  119 

Philip  would  take  a  fancy  to  Miss  Le  Breton?"  she 
said,  to  change  the  subject. 

"Oh!  did  she!"  said  Uncle  Robert  with  contempt. 
"I  don't  think  there  is  the  slightest  chance  of  such  a 
thing.  Philip  is  very  satisfied  with  his  condition. 
His  work  is  more  to  him  than  any  woman,  even  his 
mother !" 

"You  are  unkind  now,"  she  said  with  as  much  dis- 
pleasure in  her  voice  as  her  gentle  nature  was  capable 
of  showing. 

"No,"  he  contradicted.  "I  am  not  unkind.  I  am 
as  fond  of  the  lad  as  a  man  can  be,  but  I  am  not  blind 
to  his  faults." 

"But  you  do  not  realize  his  suffering,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"I  realize  that  he  has  got  over  it,"  affirmed  Uncle 
Robert.  "It  has  become  a  sort  of  poetic  regret — an 
interesting  adjunct  in  his  personality." 

But  Mrs.  Barrimore  shook  her  head,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing with  love  for  that  boy  of  hers,  and  with  con- 
viction that  she  understood  him,  which  his  Uncle 
Robert  failed  to  do. 

The  person  who  really  did  understand  Philip  was 
Eweretta  Alvin,  for  though  she  was  mistaken  in  be- 
lieving that  he  had  consoled  himself  with  Phyllis 
Lane,  she  had  studied  his  face  to  some  purpose.  She 
realized  that  the  dead  can  be  forgotten,  and  that  a  love 
sworn  to  be  eternal  can  end  with  a  few  shovelfuls  of 
earth  upon  a  coffin.  She  realized,  too,  that  love  could 
end  so,  even  though  two  people  were  united  in 
marriage.  Love  could  pass  away  in  life  as  well  as  in 
death. 

It  was  this  conviction  that  helped  her  more  than  any- 
thing else  to  rise  above  the  blow  she  had  received. 

"Philip     would     have    ceased     to     care     in     any 


120  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

case,"  she  told  herself.  "It  is  well  that  he  thinks  me 
dead." 

She  had  been  warned  both  by  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and 
by  her  uncle  that  she  would  probably  encounter 
Philip,  now  that  she  was  free  to  come  and  go. 

She  had  smiled  mystically. 

"He  will  never  have  the  least  suspicion  I  am  not 
Aimee,"  she  had  said.  In  her  heart  she  said :  "There 
is  no  love  to  penetrate  the  disguise." 

She  saw  Philip  nearly  every  day  as  he  took  his 
favorite  stroll  across  the  fields,  passing  the  hedge  of 
the  White  House  garden. 

Philip  looked  well  and  contented.  He  was,  indeed, 
at  this  time,  mightily  pleased  with  his  work,  and  that 
put  him  in  excellent  spirits. 

The  letter  he  had  received  from  Thomas  Alvin 
pleased  him  too,  and  being  in  such  excellent  humor, 
he  generouslly  made  allowances  for  the  rudeness  of 
Mr.  Alvin  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit,  and  answered 
the  note  in  his  own  charming  manner. 

He  had,  however,  no  present  intention  of  repeating 
the  call  he  had  made  at  the  White  House.  The  rough 
Colonial  did  not  appeal  to  him,  and  Miss  Le  Breton, 
being  restored  to  a  normal  condition,  was  not  in  need 
of  kindnesses,  which,  moreover,  might  be  mistaken. 
Philip  considered  himself  very  clever  to  have  thought 
of  this. 

It  was,  of  course,  possible  now  that  Miss  Le  Breton 
and  the  young  man  should  meet,  but  Philip  meant 
to  avoid  it  if  he  could.  He  did  not  want  to  have  the 
old  sorrow  awakened  by  her  looks  and  her  voice. 
Her  voice,  when  he  chanced  to  hear  it  from  the 
garden,  affected  him  more  than  her  extraordinary 
likeness  to  Eweretta.  Both  girls  had  low-pitched, 
contralto  voices,  singularly  sweet. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  121 

Philip  had  no  desire  to  be  haunted  by  ghosts. 

Since  coming  to  the  bungalow  he  had  communed 
much  with  himself,  and  one  result  of  his  communings 
had  been  the  abandonment  of  his  resolve  to  die  a 
bachelor. 

He  had  no  notion  of  again  falling  in  love.  He  had, 
he  told  himself,  experienced  one  grand  passion.  He 
could  never  experience  another.  But  he  would  marry, 
if  he  got  on,  a  woman  who  had  society  tact  and 
experience,  a  woman  who  could  make  his  position 
by  her  savoir  faire.  He  had  come  to  realize  that 
however  big  an  author  a  man  might  be,  a  society 
wife  was  an  essential  to  a  big  success.  She  could 
make  him  the  fashion.  His  work  was  everything  to 
him  now,  and  he  honestly  believed  that  no  living 
author  wrote  quite  such  perfect  romances  as  he 
did. 

In  justice  to  Philip,  the  critics — those  critics  that 
count — prophesied  a  big  future  for  him.  He  was  still 
a  very  young  man. 

He  was  considerably  relieved  that  his  uncle's  book 
would  be  by  "Robert  Burns,"  and  not  by  "Barri- 
more."  Had  it  been  his  father's  brother  instead  of 
his  mother's  Philip  would  have  regarded  the  publica- 
tion of  this  volume  of  verse  as  nothing  short  of  a 
catastrophe. 

Philip  did  not  want  so  inferior  a  production  to  be 
put  down  to  him. 

But  Philip  was  fond  of  his  uncle,  and  he  had  made 
big  efforts  to  appear  pleased  that  the  book  was  coming 
out.  Nevertheless,  his  real  views  did  leak  out  in  spite 
of  him.  In  a  fit  of  penitence  for  "hurting  the  poor  old 
chap's  feelings"  Philip  consented  to  leave  work  and 
dine  at  Hawk's  Nest  as  requested. 

Philip  often  had  fits  of  penitence  regarding  his 


122  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

treatment  of  both  his  uncle  and  his  mother;  never- 
theless he  had  but  the  vaguest  idea  how  much  he 
sometimes  hurt  them  both. 

Of  one  thing  Philip  had  an  idea  that  had  no  vague- 
ness at  all  about  it,  and  that  was  Colonel  Lane's  opinion 
about  it  all. 

Colonel  Lane  often  regarded  Philip  with  a  cold,  dis- 
approving eye.  Once  he  had  said,  after  Philip  had 
been  putting  his  mother  and  his  uncle  right  on  several 
points  in  succession,  "A  bit  of  army  discipline  would 
do  you  good,  young  man." 

Davis,  the  ex-soldier,  who  acted  as  servant  to 
Philip,  had  also  his  ideas  about  his  domineering, 
dictatorial  (albeit  kind)  master,  and  had  on  one 
occasion  confided  to  the  saucepan  he  was  scouring  that 
it  would  improve  Mr.  Barrimore  to  be  "kicked  round 
the  square"  a  bit. 

Philip  was  not  altogether  to  blame.  His  mother 
had  always  treated  him  as  a  demi-god  from  his 
infancy.  Also  she  had  made  the  great  mistake  of 
keeping  him  at  home  under  a  tutor  when  he  ought 
to  have  been  at  a  public  school — an  omission  with 
which  Philip  in  these  days,  did  not  fail  to  reproach 
his  mother ! 

"The  boy  hasn't  been  thrashed,  that's  what's  the 
matter  with  him,"  Uncle  Robert  would  often  observe. 
"  'Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child !'  Why  I  don't 
think  Philip  ever  so  much  as  had  a  fight  with  another 
boy!" 

These  ideas  of  Uncle  Robert's  were  little  pleasing 
to  the  gentle  but  unwise  mother. 

Philip,  in  his  wisdom,  disapproved  of  them  all! — 
his  mother,  his  uncle,  and  Colonel  Lane.  But  he  was 
tolerant  to  them,  he  told  himself,  for  "they  had  good 
intentions !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

COLONEL   LANE   GOES   OFF   GUARD 

PHILIP  BARRIMORE  did  not  have  to  undergo  the 
annoyance  of  sitting  at  table  with  the  man  who  had 
dared  to  want  to  marry  this  young  man's  mother — 
not,  at  any  rate,  on  the  occasion  of  Dan  Webster's  ar- 
rival at  Hawk's  Nest. 

Colonel  Lane  had  sent  round  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Barri- 
more  to  apologize  and  to  explain. 

"My  DEAR  FRIEND/'  it  began,  "the  last  of  my 
old  comrades — Colonel  Henderson — is  dying  at  Dul- 
wich,  and  he  has  expressed  a  wish  to  see  me.  You 
will  understand  that  I  am  going  at  once,  and  kindly 
forgive  me  for  breaking  my  engagement  with  you 
to-night  under  the  sorrowful  circumstances.  Poor 
Henderson  has  been  on  his  back  for  years,  and  has 
characteristically  hidden  himself,  being  poor.  Indeed, 
I  had  thought  he  must  be  dead !  Now  he  has  sent  for 
me,  and  I  shall  remain  with  him,  if  he  desires  it,  to 
the  end. 

"Will  you,  dear  friend,  be  so  sweet  as  to  take 
Phyllis  into  your  home  till  I  return?  She  does  not 
get  on  well  with  Mrs.  Ransom — and — there  are 
other  reasons.  With  you,  I  shall  feel  sure  my  child 
will  be  safe." 

The  letter  ended  conventionally,  but  for  all  that  to 
Mrs.  Barrimore  it  was  a  love-letter. 

123 


124  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"He  trusts  me — he  flies  to  me  always  as  a  refuge," 
she  told  herself,  and  her  kind  eyes  were  bright  with 
tears. 

It  did  not  occur  to  this  simple,  loving  woman  that 
there  might  be  danger  for  Phyllis  within  the  haven 
of  her  home. 

Dan  Webster  with  a  shade  over  his  eyes  was  one 
person;  Dan  Webster  without  the  shade  was  very 
much  another  person!  His  eyes  were  blue  as  forget- 
me-nots — merry  eyes,  loving  eyes,  eyes  which  women 
raved  about. 

Dan  himself  was  full  of  charm.  He  was  possessed 
also  of  that  rare  virtue — gratitude. 

He  had  never  forgotten  how  sweet  Phyllis  had  been 
to  him  in  his  blindness,  and  he  had  often  longed  to 
show  her  his  gratitude  in  some  way  that  she  would 
understand.  He  was  unfeignedly  glad  when  Mr. 
Burns,  who  had  met  him  at  Hastings  Station,  told 
him  that  "little  Phil"  was  come  to  stay  at  Hawk's 
Nest. 

Dan  had  an  idea  that  Colonel  Lane  was  a  little  too 
much  "down"  on  Phyllis.  He  was  too  strict  for  so 
high-spirited  yet  innocent  a  girl.  "Phyllis  is  just  a 
kiddie,"  Dan  had  once  remarked  to  Mrs.  Barrimore, 
"she  means  no  harm." 

And  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  thoroughly  agreed  with 
the  young  painter's  view  of  the  case. 

But  as  Colonel  Lane  had  entrusted  Phyllis  to  the 
care  of  his  "dear  friend,"  she  felt  that  she  was  on 
her  honor  to  prevent  Phyllis  from  flirting  with  Dan. 
Colonel  Lane  had  known  that  Dan  would  be  staying 
at  Hawk's  Nest,  so  he  had  shown  great  trust  in  Mrs. 
Barrimore  when  he  had  asked  her  to  take  his  daughter 
into  her  home. 

So  it  happened  that  while  Mr.  Burns  was  escorting 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  125 

Dan  from  the  station  (Dan  had  insisted  on  walking  as 
he  wanted  to  "stretch  his  legs"),  Mrs.  Barrimore 
was  reading,  a  gentle  lecture  to  her  wilful  young 
guest. 

"You  won't  flirt  with  Dan,  will  you.  dear?"  she 
began  nervously.  "Your  father  would  not  like  it,  and 
now  that  he  has  trusted  you  by  sending  you  here — 
don't  you  think — " 

"What  I  think  is  that  you  are  a  dear  darling!" 
exclaimed  the  girl  impulsively,  kissing  the  tame 
lecturer,  "and  you  want  to  please  father — oh !  I  know ! 
and  you  are  looking  absolutely  lovely !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  had  blushed  that  beautiful  pink  at 
the  girl's  words. 

"How  do  you  do  it?"  asked  Phyllis  with  a  critical 
gaze.  "Now  I  don't  blush.  I  wish  I  could!  I  get  a 
savage  red  when  dad  scolds  me,  and  that  is  the  near- 
est to  blushing  I  can  get  at.  But  don't  worry !  I  will 
be  demure  and  well-behaved  for  your  sweet  sake.  It 
will  be  hard,  you  know,  for  I  do  so  like  a  bit  of  fun. 
There  isn't  a  great  deal  of  fun  at  home,  you  know !" 
she  added  wistfully. 

Annie  Barrimore  laughed  brightly  and  naturally. 
"Come!  Come!"  she  ejaculated.  "You  do  get  a 
good  deal  of  fun  out  of  life !" 

"You  wouldn't  think  so  if  you  knew  every- 
thing." 

"What  is  there  to  know,  then?"  inquired  the  elder 
woman.  She  remembered  painfully  that  Colonel  Lane 
had  suspected  Phyllis  of  hiding  something. 

"There  are  things  even  older  people  can't  under- 
stand," answered  Phyllis  enigmatically. 

There  was  a  strained  silence,  followed  happily 
by  the  voices  of  Uncle  Robert  and  Dan  in  the 
garden. 


126  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"One  always  hears  Robert  a  mile  off,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Barrimore.  "Come,  we  must  welcome  Dan." 

The  two  women  found  Philip  in  the  entrance 
hall. 

Philip  was  disposed  to  be  very  pleasant  to-night. 
He  embraced  his  mother  with  more  than  usual  affec- 
tion, and  greeted  Phyllis  with  a  compliment  on  her 
frock,  which  greatly  gratified  that  young  woman,  as 
Philip  so  rarely  said  "nice  things." 

"You  will  scarcely  believe  it,"  said  Philip  as  he 
hung  up  his  hat,  "but  I  drove  in  in  Thomas  Alvin's 
trap.  He  was  passing  the  bungalow,  and  I  was  in 
the  garden.  He  spoke  quite  affably,  and  I  chanced 
to  say  I  was  going  into  Hastings  when  he  offered  me 
a  seat  in  his  trap,  which  I  accepted.  I  did  not  want 
to  ride  in — in  fact,  Soda  has  got  something  wrong 
with  her  hock.  I  was  going  to  cycle  over,  and  I  hate 
cycling." 

"How  nice  of  Mr.  Alvin!"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore. 
"But  where  are  your  uncle  and  Dan?" 

"Just  behind,"  said  Philip.  "I  left  them  talking 
to  some  parson  at  the  gate.  I  did  not  know  him,  and 
I  came  in  for  fear  of  an  introduction.  I  never  hit  it 
off  with  parsons  somehow !" 

During  dinner  Philip  astonished  everyone  by 
speaking  freely  of  the  Alvins:  speaking  as  if  he  had 
never  been  so  intimately,  so  tragically  near  to  them. 
Mrs.  Barrimore  admired  what  she  thought  his  splendid 
self-control.  Dan  was  hurt  at  what  he  considered  the 
man's  callousness.  Uncle  Robert  said  to  himself:  "I 
was  right.  The  wound  is  healed."  Phyllis  was  too 
much  interested  in  watching  Dan  to  attend  to  Philip's 
remarks. 

"I  think,"  said  Philip,  in  his  "laying-down-the- 
law"  tone,  "that  Alvin  ought  to  leave  the  neighbor- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  127 

hood  now  Miss  Le  Breton  has  recovered  her  reason, 
and  give  her  a  chance.  Here  everyone  knows  of  her 
former  condition." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  dear  Philip,"  said  his 
mother.  (When  did  she  not  agree  with  dear  Philip?) 
"No  one  will  call  on  them,  because  Miss  Le  Breton 
is  so  beautiful,  and  they  would  be  afraid  for  their  sons. 
The  poor  girl  should  scarcely  marry." 

"She  is  beautiful,'  rejoined  Philip  critically,  "but 
not  necessarily  a  danger  on  that  account.  Men  like 
to  toy  with  a  beautiful  woman,  but  those  who  are 
sensible  think  twice  about  marrying  them.  For 
my  part,  I  think  if  ever  I  chose  to  marry,  it  would 
not  be  a  beautiful  woman  I  should  make  my  wife." 

"How  bravely  he  hides  his  wound!"  thought  Mrs. 
Barrimore. 

"Old  Alvin  is  not  the  brute  I  imagined,"  went  on 
Philip  to  the  table  generally.  "He  talked  to  me  as 
we  drove  along,  almost  entirely  of  Miss  Le  Breton. 
He  is  profoundly  anxious  about  her  future.  He 
seemed  very  fond  of  her,  I  thought.  After  all,  those 
two  women  have  no  claim  on  him  whatever.  He 
can't  be  a  bad  sort  to  voluntarily  burden  himself 
with  them." 

"I  entirely  disagree  with  you  on  that  point,  Philip," 
broke  out  Uncle  Robert.  "Both  women  had  a 
natural  claim  on  the  money  Thomas  Alvin  has  become 
possessed  of.  I  am  glad  Alvin  had  the  grace  to  see 
it." 

"The  odd  thing  is,"  went  on  Philip,  ignoring  some- 
what impolitely  his  uncle's  observation.  "The  odd 
thing  is,  that  Miss  Le  Breton  is  fond  of  this  uncouth 
Colonial — I  gathered  that." 

"Poor  girl !"  put  in  Dan,  "she  has  no  sweetheart  to 
be  fond  of,  or  has  lost  him." 


128  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Quand  on  n'a  pas  ce  qu'on  aline,  il  faut  aimer  ce 
qu'on  a,"  said  Philip  lightly. 

Philip's  tone,  rather  than  the  words  themselves, 
was  somewhat  of  a  shock  to  his  hearers.  Everyone 
remembered  the  grave  in  the  Canadian  prairie. 
Would  Philip,  too,  philosophically  having  lost  what 
he  had  loved,  console  himself  by  loving  what  he 
had? 

Philip  had  certainly  changed  a  good  deal  from  the 
boy  who  had  rushed  off  to  the  North- West  broken- 
hearted, to  visit  a  little  mound  of  earth  near 
Qu'Appelle,  and  had  come  back  announcing  that  he 
should  for  ever  remain  a  bachelor.  He  was  not 
melancholy  now,  he  was  quite  evidently  in  excellent 
spirits.  Even  the  sight  of  the  girl  at  the  White 
House,  who  was,  as  he  himself  said,  the  living 
image  of  the  lost  Eweretta,  failed  to  fan  the  old 
flame. 

He  spoke  of  Miss  Le  Breton  quite  freely. 

Turning  to  Dan  he  said :  "You  should  get  a  sight 
of  Miss  Le  Breton.  Perhaps  Alvin  could  give  you  a 
commision  to  paint  her.  She  is  wonderful." 

"What  is  she  like?"  inquired  Dan. 

Philip  considered. 

"Black  hair,  blue  eyes — that  often  look  dark,"  he 
said,  and  paused. 

"She  has  wonderful  eyes,  heavily-fringed,"  he  went 
on.  "Her  skin  is  pale  and  clear." 

Suddenly  he  broke  off,  and  applied  himself  to  his 
dinner. 

Perhaps  the  face  he  had  called  up  affected  him,  after 
all. 

Uncle  Robert  caught  his  sister's  eye.  She  was  look- 
ing towards  him  with  a  certain  triumph. 

She  knew   quite  well   that  her  brother  had  been 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  129 

thinking  Philip  callous,  and  she  was  not  sorry  that 
a  sudden  betrayal  of  feeling  on  the  boy's  part  had 
undeceived  his  uncle. 

"I  must  begin  your  portrait  to-morrow,  Mr.  Burns," 
Dan  said,  to  fill  an  awkward  silence. 

"The  sooner  the  better,  my  boy!"  exclaimed  Uncle 
Robert.  "You  ought  to  get  my  picture  in  the  New 
Gallery  next  year,  as  you  did  old  Lord  What's-his- 
name's  this  year." 

Dan  laughed.    "I  was  lucky,"  he  said. 

Phyllis  was  behaving  with  great  discretion.  She 
certainly  looked  at  Dan  a  good  deal,  but  none  of  her 
glances  had  the  usual  coquetry,  and  Dan,  who  had 
also  looked  at  her,  never  liked  her  so  much  as  during 
this  hour. 

He  thought  about  her  as  a  sort  of  under-current  of 
contemplation  while  he  talked  of  other  things.  He 
remembered  her  little  coquettish  ways  of  the  past, 
and  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  them  in  a  truer,  clearer 
light.  She  had  been  sweet  to  him  and  made  much  of 
him  and  flattered  him  because  he  had  been  under  a 
cloud.  It  had  not  been,  as  he  had  then  imagined,  wil- 
ful flirting — wilful  flirting  which  to  him  had  neverthe- 
less been  very  pleasant  at  the  time. 

Now  that  he  was  himself,  Phyllis  had  become  the 
demure,  modest,  even  shy  maiden,  which  to  him  was 
infinitely  more  attractive. 

"How  did  I  behave,  darling?"  Phyllis  demanded 
of  Mrs.  Barrimore  when  they  were  alone  in  the 
drawing-room  waiting  for  the  men  to  join  them. 

"Beautifully,  dear!"  said  her  mentor  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

During  the  walk  to  Gissing  (Philip,  to  everyone's 
amazement,  had  elected  to  walk  back  to  the  bunga- 
low!), he  pondered  over  the  demure  behavior  of 


I3o  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Phyllis,  and  was  much  exercised  as  to  the  motive  of 
this  transformation. 

"She  never  attempted  to  flirt  once,"  he  mentally 
commented.  "Perhaps  she  is  learning  some  common 
sense  at  last." 


CHAPTER  XX 

"SO    NEAR    AND   YET    SO    FAR!" 

IN  what  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  consists  there  are 
wide  and  varied  opinions,  but  it  is  reserved  to  those 
who  have  retained,  or  attained,  the  heart  of  a  little 
child  to  see  it. 

Eweretta  Alvin,  despite  her  twenty-one  years,  had 
still  the  heart  of  a  little  child.  Her  up-bringing  had 
something  to  do  with  this. 

As  a  small  child,  under  the  care  of  a  singularly 
pure-minded  mother,  she  had  dwelt  in  a  simple  prairie 
home,  and  the  miles  and  miles  of  landscape  stretching 
out  before  her  childish  eyes  had  filled  her  with  venera- 
tion. She  had  even  then,  though  she  could  not  have 
expressed  it,  been  awed  by  the  smallness  of  herself 
and  the  stupendous  greatness  of  the  Creator.  This 
feeling  had  been  fostered  later  on  in  the  peaceful  con- 
vent school  at  Montreal,  where  the  gentle  Sisters  of 
the  Sacred  Heart  had  recognized  that  Eweretta  Alvin 
was  an  unusually  "spiritual"  child. 

People  outside  the  convent  had  called  Eweretta 
foolishly  optimistic.  Whatever  happened,  she  would 
declare,  had  good  as  its  ultimate  result.  Her  mother's 
death,  which  had  been  a  great  sorrow,  had  been  far 
less  of  an  anguish  than  the  knowledge  of  her  father's 
sin.  Of  the  loss  of  her  mother,  she  had  said:  "She 
is  in  Heaven  and  happy."  Of  her  father,  she  had  said 
to  herself:  "God  will  make  him  repent.  He  has  a 
good  heart;  God  will  see  to  it." 


132  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Of  the  wrong  done  her  by  her  Uncle  Thomas,  she 
told  herself:  "God  permitted  it  that  I  might  help  a 
man  who  never  had  a  chance." 

Of  the  loss  of  her  lover,  she  told  herself  that  God 
had  mercifully  let  her  find  out  in  time  that  his  love 
was  a  reed  on  which  she  could  not  lean. 

Eweretta  had  been  brought  up  in  her  mother's  re- 
ligion, which  was  also  that  of  Mrs.  Le  Breton.  Both 
these  women  were  of  French  Canadian  stock,  and  na- 
turally Roman  Catholics. 

Now  that  Eweretta  was  allowed  her  freedom,  she 
went  to  church  again,  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  went  too. 
It  was  a  long  journey  for  them  to  "St.  Mary,  Star  of 
the  Sea,"  but  that  was  of  little  moment  to  these  two 
women.  They  had  both  lived  in  the  prairie  where  a 
monthly  Mass  had  alone  been  possible,  as  the  little 
church  both  had  attended  had  been  served  by  a  priest 
who  had  to  travel  far.  They  themselves  had  covered 
twenty  miles  to  reach  it. 

It  so  chanced  that  Dan  Webster  was  a  Roman 
Catholic,  so  he,  too,  when  at  Hastings,  went  to 
"St.  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea,"  which  is  situated  in  the 
High  Street  of  the  Old  Town. 

On  the  first  Sunday  after  Dan  had  come  to  Hawk's 
Nest,  he  went  to  the  eight-o'clock  Mass,  and  imme- 
diately in  front t>f  him  sat  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and  Eweretta. 

Dan,  who  had  a  keen  eye  for  beauty,  was  filled  with 
an  emotion  at  sight  of  this  girl,  which  made  him  com- 
pletely forget  himself — and  the  Mass. 

He  never  took  his  eyes  from  the  girl,  lest  he  should 
lose  the  sight  of  the  exquisite  profile  which  a  chance 
movement  of  Eweretta's  gave  him.  He  was  quite 
certain,  from  the  slight  description  Philip  Barrimore 
had  given  of  her,  that  this  was  Miss  Le  Breton. 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  downright  good  luck  that 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  133 

he  noticed  that  one  of  them  had  left  her  prayer-book 
behind,  when  the  two  women  left  their  seat. 

He  could  easily  have  followed  them  and  restored 
the  book  before  they  had  left  the  church.  But  Dan 
had  no  such  intention. 

He  waited  till  everyone  had  gone,  then  he  pounced 
upon  the  prayer-book,  and  opened  it,  and  saw  therein 
"Andree  Le  Breton."  It  was  evidently  the  property 
of  the  elder  woman.  The  other — the  beautiful 
Madonna-like  girl — was  then,  Aimee. 

Dan  made  up  his  mind  at  once.  He  would  go 
over  to  Gissing  in  the  afternoon,  and  leave  the  book  at 
the  White  House. 

He  confided  a  secret  to  Mrs.  Barrimore  when  he 
found  her  alone  on  his  return.  Somehow  Mrs.  Barri- 
more was  a  woman  in  whom  men  easily  confide. 
Colonel  Lane  had  once  described  her  grey  eyes  as 
"wells  of  sympathy." 

First  of  all,  Dan  told  her  that  he  had  seen  Miss  Le 
Breton  at  "St.  Mary,  Star  of  the  Sea." 

Then  came  the  secret. 

"You  know,  Mrs.  Barrimore,"  he  began,  with  a 
certain  shyness  of  manner,  "it  was  when  my  eyes  went 
wrong  I  vowed  that,  if  they  got  well,  I  would  paint 
a  picture  of  'Our  Lady'  for  the  little  church  where  I 
went  as  a  boy,  and  that  it  should  be  my  thank-offering. 
To-day,  when  I  saw  the  face  of  Miss  Le  Breton,  I 
knew  that  she  was  the  model  I  wanted.  I  must 
paint  her.  Oh,  Mrs.  Barrimore,  the  love  and 
sorrow — yet  peace,  in  those  wonderful  eyes  of  hers! 
Well,  fortune  favored  me.  Mrs.  Le  Breton  left  her 
prayer-book  behind  her.  Here  it  is!  I  am  going  to 
take  it  to  her  this  afternoon,  and  I  hope  they  will  ask 
me  to  go  in.  If  they  do,  I  shall  try  to  make  myself 
charming." 


134  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore,  "you  will 
not  need  to  try  to  be  charming;  you  need  only  be 
yourself!" 

"You  darling!"  cried  the  impulsive  boy.  "I  want 
to  kiss  you  for  that!" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  held  up  her  face.  "You  may  have 
your  kiss,  Dan!  You  are  almost  like  another  son!" 

When  breakfast  was  over,  Mrs.  Barrimore,  Mr. 
Burns  and  Phyllis  went  to  Blacklands  Church,  and 
Dan  passed  the  time  smoking  in  a  wicker  chair  on  the 
terrace,  and  in  thinking  of  the  girl  he  hoped  to  paint. 

After  luncheon  he  dressed  himself  with  some  care, 
and  started  to  walk  to  Gissing. 

To  reach  the  White  House,  Dan  had  to  pass  Philip's 
bungalow. 

Philip  was  lying  in  his  hammock  in  the  verandah, 
consuming  cigarettes. 

Hearing  brisk  footsteps,  he  leaned  up  and  saw  Dan. 
Then  he  sprang  out  of  the  hammock  and  ran  down 
the  garden-path. 

Dan  was  waiting  at  the  gate. 

"Can't  you  open  it?"  inquired  Philip. 

"I'll  come  in  later,"  explained  Dan.  "I  am  going 
to  deliver  some  lost  property  at  the  White  House." 

"Wait  a  minute  and  I  will  come  too,"  said  Philip. 
"Old  Alvin  gave  me  a  lift  the  other  day.  I  had  been 
intending  to  call." 

A  shade — only  a  shade  of  disappointment  crossed 
Dan's  sunny  face  for  a  moment.  He  had  wanted  to 
make  the  very  most  of  this  opportunity,  and  he  knew 
from  experience  that  other  men  had  but  a  small  "show 
in"  when  Philip  was  present. 

"They  are  all  in  the  garden,"  Philip  said,  as  the 
two  men  walked  towards  the  White  House.  "Per- 
haps they  will  offer  us  tea." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  135 

Nearing  a  spot  where  the  little  wood  became  visible, 
Dan  remarked  on  its  being  wired  in. 

"Does  Mr.  Alvin  keep  some  colonial  pets  in  there  ?" 
he  asked. 

"I  am  curious  to  know  myself,"  replied  Philip. 
"Alvin  has  constructed  a  high  wall  round  a  clearing 
inside.  This  much  I  know.  He  is  a  funny  old 
fellow.  He  did  most  of  the  work  at  night." 

Thomas  Alvin  received  the  guests  with  a  show  of 
genuine  friendliness.  He  had  seen  them  coming,  and 
had  walked  to  the  garden  gate  to  meet  them. 

"Come  in,"  he  said  cordially  to  Philip,  and  then 
glanced  at  Dan. 

"This  is  Mr.  Webster,  the  painter,  of  whom  I  think 
you  have  heard,"  said  Philip.  "He  has  brought  some 
lost  property  of  Mrs.  Le  Breton's." 

Alvin  shook  hands  with  Dan,  and  led  the  way  to  a 
shady  spot  in  the  garden,  where  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and 
Eweretta  were  sitting. 

Eweretta's  face  turned  a  shade  paler  as  Philip 
greeted  her.  He  could  not  but  observe  this,  but 
thought  it  only  natural  that  "Aimee  Le  Breton"  should 
be  shy  and  nervous. 

Dan,  who  had  given  the  prayer-book  to  Mrs.  Le 
Breton,  fell  into  conversation  with  her,  so  Philip  began 
to  talk  to  Eweretta. 

"You  must  find  England  a  great  change  from 
Canada,  Miss  Le  Breton,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  chair 
Alvin  had  purposely  placed  for  him  near  Eweretta. 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  "but  this  place  is  very 
beautiful." 

How  startingly  like  her  voice  was  to  her  sister's, 
thought  Philip.  It  awoke  a  tender  memory,  not  deep 
enough  to  be  actual  pain,  but  still  tender. 

"It  is  rather  lonely,   though,  out  here,"  went  on 


136  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Philip.  "I  mean  for  you.  I  chose  it  on  account  of 
the  solitude.  I  can  work  better  away  from  people." 

"You  are  writing  a  new  book,  are  you  not?"  asked 
Eweretta. 

"Yes,  I  am  nearing  the  end,"  he  answered.  "I  have 
grown  so  fond  of  one  or  two  of  my  puppets  that  I  shall 
grieve  to  say  good-bye." 

"I  suppose  the  characters  in  stories  do  become  very 
real  to  an  author,"  she  said. 

"Very  real  indeed,"  he  answered.  "More  real 
sometimes  than  people  of  flesh  and  blood." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  she  rejoined.  "They  are 
all  your  own,  and  you  can  sift  them  at  your  will." 

Philip  was  amazed  that  Aimee  Le  Breton,  whom  he 
had  always  understood  to  be  uneducated,  could  talk 
in  this  way. 

He  caught  himself  staring  at  her  and  instantly 
looked  away. 

"And  this  book  of  yours,"  she  hazarded.  "What 
is  it  about?  Or  perhaps  you  would  rather  not  talk 
about  it?"  v 

"Ah,  Miss  Le  Breton,  do  not  so  tempt  me!  Was 
there  ever  yet  an  author  who  was  not  willing — too 
willing  to  talk  of  his  books?  My  book  is  a  love 
story,  but  possibly  some  readers  will  rebel  against  the 
doctrines  on  love  therein  put  forth.  Do  you  believe 
that  love  is  eternal,  Miss  Le  Breton?  I  mean,  of 
course,  the  love  of  a  man  for  a  maid,  or  a  maid  for 
a  man.  The  great  fact  of  Love  must  be  eternal;  the 
love  that  is  not  of  the  earth  earthy." 

He  spoke  eagerly  and  watched  to  see  the  effect  of 
his  words. 

Her  answer  came  in  her  slow,  full  contralto. 

"No,  I  cannot  think  all  human  love  eternal,"  she 
said. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  137 

"And  perhaps  it  is  best  so,"  he  rejoined.  "For 
instance,  when  a  man  is  young  he  sometimes  loves — 
or  thinks  he  loves — the  woman  who  would  not  in  the 
least  suit  him  as  a  life-companion.  You  would  not 
think  it  best  that  that  love  should  be  eternal,  would 
you,  Miss  Le  Breton?  The  man  in  my  book  spoils 
his  life  because  he  fell  in  love  too  young,  and  with  the 
wrong  woman.  I  am  boring  you,  Miss  Le 
Breton?" 

"No,  I  am  much — oh,  very  much  interested,"  she 
assured  him. 

"Well,  my  hero  found  out  the  mistake  that  he  had 
made." 

"I  hope  it  was  in  time  to  prevent  the  marriage?" 
put  in  Eweretta.  "The  real  tragedy  would  have  been 
their  marriage." 

"How  well  you  realize?"  he  exclaimed  ad- 
miringly. "Really  I  don't  often  find  anyone  to  under- 
stand as  you  do.  But  I  am  a  terrible  egotist.  Let 
us  talk  of  something  else.  What  interests  you 
chiefly?" 

"Oh,  many  things — everything  almost,"  she  made 
answer. 

"How  contented  you  must  be!"  he  said  musingly. 

"Yes,  I  am  content,"  she  answered. 

"I  am,  too,"  Philip  told  her,  "for  I  have  passed 
my  romantic  period,  when  I  thought  youthful  sorrows 
could  be  everlasting.  You  know,  Miss  Le  Breton,  the 
young  always  think  sorrow  eternal.  I  have  grown 
old  in  a  few  months,  and  have  passed  from  one  stage 
of  experience  to  another  at  express  speed.  It  is  a 
curious  feeling  to  look  back  over  a  few  months,  and 
to  feel  them  to  be  years." 

He  paused,  and  she  regarded  him  with  strange  in- 
tentness. 


138  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  understand  that  too,"  she  said  at  last. 

Dan,  who  had  been  growing  impatient  to  have  a 
chance  to  speak  with  his  beautiful  Madonna,  delib- 
erately interrupted  Philip  and  Eweretta  at  this 
point. 

"You  like  Hastings,  I  hope,  Miss  Le  Breton? 
Your  mother  and  I  have  been  lauding  it  so  well  that 
I  think  the  town  ought  to  give  us  a  testimonial." 

"It  is  lovely,"  said  Eweretta.  "There  is  so  fine 
a  sea  and  such  wonderful  country  too.  I  think  the 
view  from  the  West  Hill  quite  wonderful.  It  reminds 
me  a  little  of  Quebec.  Were  you  ever  in  Canada,  Mr. 
Webster?" 

"No,  to  my  loss,"  acknowledged  Dan.  "But  I 
mean  to  see  it  one  day.  I  mean  to  go  everywhere. 
A  nice  statement  for  an  impecunious  painter  to  make, 
you  will  say!  But  I  am  an  optimistic  beggar,  and  I 
have  wonderful  castles  in  Spain." 

Mattie  brought  out  tea  at  this  point  and  conversa- 
tion became  general. 

Alvin  was  in  good  spirits.  Evidently  Barrimore 
had  been  getting  on  very  well  with  Eweretta. 

But  how  incredible  it  seemed  that  he  should  not 
recognize  her! 

Yet  he  had  always  known  that  the  half-sisters  were 
like  as  twins,  and  he  was  sure  that  his  old  love  was 
dead.  An  accepted  fact  wants  some  upsetting! 

But  how  romantic  it  would  be  if  Philip  should  again 
fall  in  love  with  Eweretta,  believing  her  to  be  Aimee ! 

When  the  young  men  rose  to  go,  Alvin  begged  them 
to  repeat  their  visit,  which  they  promised  to  do  at  an 
early  date. 

"I  figure  that  we  shall  be  friends,"  he  added. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  bungalow  Philip  said : 

"It  is  a  most  amazing  thing,  Dan,  that  Aimee  Le 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  139 

Breton  should  have  so  completely  recovered  her 
reason.  It  was  quite  uncanny  to  hear  her  talk. 
Ton  my  word,  at  times  I  felt  I  must  be  hearing  her 
dead  sister  speak !  But  she  is,  after  all,  very  different 
from  Eweretta.  Eweretta  was  joyous  as  a  child. 
I  cannot  imagine  Aimee  Le  Breton  as  joyous  at  any 
time.  She  does  not  seem  unhappy;  on  the  contrary, 
she  is  content.  But  she  struck  me  as  a  woman  inca- 
pable of  joy." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TWO   MEN   DISCUSS   A   WOMAN 

DAN  WEBSTER  stayed  on  at  the  bungalow  till  the 
evening  shadows  gathered,  and  during  the  whole  time 
Miss  Le  Breton  had  formed  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, which  finally  developed  into  argument 

Philip,  who  was  conscious  of  having  got  a  little 
heated,  and  who  was  anxious  to  make  amends,  volun- 
teered to  walk  as  far  as  Ore  with  Dan. 

But  as  they  walked  the  old  topic  still  occupied 
them. 

"You  have  had  a  lot  to  say  in  your  capacity  of 
novelist,  Philip,"  said  Dan.  "You  hold  that  you 
see  through  a  character  because  of  your  story-telling 
gift.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  don't  get  outside  your- 
self enough  to  be  able  to  form  a  just  estimate  of 
character.  Now  I,  as  a  painter  of  portraits,  am  a  bit 
of  a  character  reader.  A  really  great  portrait-painter 
puts  a  man's  naked  soul  upon  the  canvas.  Such 
portraits  are  a  revelation  of  the  kind  one  expects  on 
the  Judgment  Day." 

"Oh,  I  know  all  about  that,"  answered  Philip 
testily.  (Most  people  wasted  their  time,  and  his,  by 
telling  him  things  he  knew  all  about.) 

"But  let  me  finish,"  persisted  Dan.  "You,  with 
a  novelist's  insight,  say  that  you  believe  Miss  Le 
Breton  incapable  of  joy.  Now  I,  with  my  painter's 
insight,  should  say  that  Miss  Le  Breton  has  known 

140 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  141 

both  great  joy  and  great  sorrow.  There  is  in  her  face 
the  sweetness  that  renunciation  alone  gives.  Ah !  when 
I  get  my  chance,  I  will  put  on  canvas  what  I  see  in 
that  woman's  face!" 

"Exactly,"  said  Philip  bitingly;  "what  you  see, 
but  not  necessarily  what  is  there.  The  accident  of 
beauty  makes  Miss  Le  Breton's  face  what  it  is.  Think, 
man!  that  girl  until  quite  recently  was  not  quite 
sane.  The  form  the  disease  took  in  her  was  that  of 
an  undeveloped  brain  (so  I  have  always  understood). 
This  means  that  the  girl  has  had  no  history;  there- 
fore, what  you  say  you  see  in  her  face  cannot  be 
there." 

Dan  smiled.    "But  I  see  it,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  Dan,  I  am  an  egotistical  aggravating 
fellow,  and  I  daresay  you  have  more  insight  than  I 
have.  I  am  really  a  good  deal  puzzled  about  Aimee 
Le  Breton.  She  talked  like  a  woman  who  had  both 
education  and  intellect  to-day.  I  wonder  if  her 
mother's  melancholy  preyed  upon  her,  and  reflected 
itself  in  a  curious  way,  so  as  to  mislead  people  in  her 
earlier  days?  You  know — or  perhaps  you  don't 
know — that  in  the  prairie  doctors'  opinions  are  but 
rarely  asked  or  obtained.  It  may  be  that  in  new  and 
better  surroundings  the  girl  has  awakened  to  her 
real  self.  But  here  we  are  at  Ore,  so  good-bye,  and 
don't  go  away  with  hard  thoughts  of  me  for  my  dis- 
agreeable didacticism.  I  am  a  disagreeable  beast,  but 
I  love  you  well !" 

Dan  wrung  his  friend's  hand  as  he  said  whimsically : 
"I  think,  old  man,  I'll  set  about  getting  the  beam  out 
of  my  own  eye !" 

It  was  Phyllis  Lane  who  greeted  Dan  when  he 
reached  Hawk's  Nest. 

"Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Mr.  Burns  have  gone  for  a 


142  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

walk  on  the  sea-front,"  she  explained.  "I  stayed  to 
finish  'Uther  and  Igraine' — and  to  see  you." 

"How  nice  of  you !"  exclaimed  Dan,  much  flattered, 
for  Phyllis  had  shown  no  coquetry  at  all  in  these  gold- 
en days  when  sight  had  come  back. 

"I  want  to  know  so  much  what  you  think  of  Miss 
Le  Breton,"  went  on  Phyllis. 

The  words  acted  as  a  cold  douche  after  Dan's  elation. 
Phyllis  was  not  anxious  to  see  him  (for  himself)  at 
all.  She  wanted  to  satisfy  her  curiosity  about  Miss 
Le  Breton.  A  swift  thought  crossed  Dan's  mind. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Phyllis's  visits  to  the  bun- 
galow, of  which  he  had  heard,  were  not  platonic  after 
all  ?  Could  it  be  that  she  was  in  love  with  the  egotist 
at  Gissing,  and  was  fearful  lest  that  young  man  should 
come  to  be  enamored  of  Aimee  Le  Breton? 

Dan  was  not  inclined  to  agree  with  Mrs.  Barrimore 
regarding  the  extreme  frankness  of  Colonel  Lane's 
attractive  little  daughter.  But  he  liked  her  genuinely, 
and  it  had  gratified  him  that  she  had  said  she  had 
waited  to  see  him,  till  she  gave  her  reason. 

"Won't  you  take  cold  in  that  thin  blouse,  Miss 
Lane?"  was  Dan's  next  remark. 

Phyllis  had  met  Dan  at  the  gate  of  the  carriage 
drive,  and  they  had  paced  slowly  towards  the  house 
as  they  talked. 

"I  never  take  cold,"  asserted  Phyllis,  "but  I  will 
go  in  and  get  my  coat  and  hat,  and  we  can  go  a  little 
way  to  meet  Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Mr.  Burns  if  you 
like — not,  of  course,  if  you  are  tired  after  walking 
from  Gissing." 

Dan  put  his  big  shoulders  back  and  asked  if  he 
looked  like  a  creature  that  tired. 

In  the  twilight  that  had  gathered  Dan  looked  a 
giant  to  little  Phyllis. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  143 

"I  like  big,  strong  men,"  Phyllis  remarked  critically. 

"Do  you?"  came  in  Uncle  Robert's  stentorian  voice 
from  the  road.  "You  ought  to  like  me,  then !" 

"So  I  do,"  cried  Phyllis,  running  lightly  to  the  gate. 

"Very  nice  and  very  proper  of  you,  my  dear,"  re- 
joined Uncle  Robert.  "So  you  are  home  first,  Dan? 
Eh,  what?  We  thought  Philip  would  keep  you  late. 
Annie  and  I  have  been  listening  to  the  Socialists  hold- 
ing forth  on  the  beach.  There  is  something  in  what 
they  say  too." 

"Where  do  they  hold  forth?"  inquired  Dan. 

"By  the  two  Albertines.  You  ought  to  go  and  hear 
them.  Carlye  called  theirs  'the  dismal  science,'  didn't 
he?  Ah!  that  was  about  the  Nigger  question.  He 
said,  too :  'A  Burns  is  infinitely  better  educated  than  a 
Byron.'  Ha!  ha!" 

"Mr.  Burns,"  broke  out  Dan,  "you  ought  to  be 
fined  a  bottle  of  champagne  every  time  you  make  a 
quotation." 

"Then  I  fear  there  would  be  a  slump  in  the  wine 
trade — no,  I  mean,  someone  would  make  a  corner  in 
champagne,"  said  Uncle  Robert.  "But  let  us  join 
the  fair  ladies.  See !  they  have  gone  in,  and  the  inner 
man  calleth  for  provender." 

Supper  took  the  place  of  dinner  on  Sundays  at 
Hawk's  Nest,  and  it  was  during  this  meal  that  Phyllis 
heard  what  Dan  thought  of  Miss  Le  Breton. 

Dan,  once  upon  the  subject,  talked  so  volubly,  that 
Uncle  Robert  could  not  get  in  a  single  quotation. 
Aimee  Le  Breton's  expression,  to  say  nothing  of  her 
perfection  of  line,  molding  and  color,  was  some- 
thing to  dream  of.  "  'Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent 
prayer,'  "  Dan  quoted,  whereupon  Uncle  Robert  ex- 
claimed: "You  are  usurping  my  throne,"  and  every- 
one laughed  except  Phyllis. 


144  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

To  Phyllis  this  praise  of  Aimee  Le  Breton  was  a 
pang,  the  reason  for  which  she  was  then  far  from 
guessing. 

"Philip  talked  to  her  a  lot,"  said  Dan.  "I  envied  him." 

"What!  did  Philip  go?"  asked  Mrs.  Barrimore. 
"Poor  Philip!  what  a  stoic  he  is!  Why  should  he 
subject  himself  to  the  occasion  of  such  sorrowful 
memories  ?" 

"Philip  seemed  to  like  talking  to  her,"  Dan  assured 
Mrs.  Barrimore.  "He  quite  came  out,  and  discussed 
his  books." 

"He  always  does,"  affirmed  Uncle  Robert,  upon 
which  he  received  a  very  reproachful  look  from  his 
sister. 

"Isn't  it  natural  that  the  boy  should  like  to  talk 
about  his  books?"  she  asked.  "You  like  to  talk 
about  yours." 

"Mine  will  be  out  soon,"  said  Uncle  Robert,  bursting 
with  pride.  "You  shall  have  a  copy,  Dan.  I  shall 
buy  up  a  whole  lot  to  encourage  the  publishers. 
I  am  anxious  to  see  what  the  Athenoeum  and  the 
Saturday  will  have  to  say  about  it.  I  showed  one  or 
two  of  the  poems  to  Philip,  and  he  did  not  seem  appre- 
ciative. These  fellows  who  write  fiction  only  don't 
seem  to  care  about  poetry.  Now  I  am  different.  I 
like  to  write  poetry,  but  I  like  to  read  everything 
— even  the  modern  novel — though  I  confess  to  getting 
more  pleasure  out  of  the  Elizabethan  writers  than  out 
of  the  most  modern  men.  Fill  up  your  glass,  Dan! 

'Wine  whets  the  wit,  improves  its  native  force, 
And  gives  a  pleasant  flavor  to  discourse/ 

Pomfret  wrote  that.  He  knew  a  good  deal  of  truth 
for  a  parson — I  beg  your  pardon,  Annie!  you  don't 
like  that  kind  of  remark,  I  know." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  145 

Mrs.  Barrimore  rose.  "Phyllis  and  I  will  leave 
you  to  'whet  your  wits,'  "  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"Poor  Dan !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Robert.  "I'll  wager 
he  is  sick  of  my  gift  of  the  gab  and  would  rather  go 
with  you  and  Phyllis." 

"No,  no!"  Dan  contradicted.  "Go  on  talking. 
I  like  it,  and,  more  than  that,  I  am  busy  getting  your 
portrait." 

"Eh,  what?"  ejaculated  Uncle  Robert,  not 
understanding. 

"It  is  not  when  you  sit  to  me  that  I  take  your 
portrait,"  observed  Dan  enigmatically.  "I  learn  up 
your  face  when  you  are  your  natural  self,  talking  as 
now.  I  do  not  put  on  canvas  the  expression  you  give 
me  when  you  sit  to  me." 

"Ah,  I  see !"  broke  in  Uncle  Robert.  "  'Nature 
is  Art's  handmaid,'  and  Dryden  says :  'For  Art  may 
err,  but  Nature  cannot  miss.'  You  paint  portraits, 
Dan,  not  pictures  that  might  be  anybody  almost.  You 
will  make  a  big  name  one  day,  young  man.  But  take 
care  of  those  precious  eyes  of  yours." 

"I  mean  to,"  said  Dan.  "Do  you  know,  Mr.  Burns, 
I  was  feeling  absolutely  suicidal  when  you  sent  for 
me  to  come  here  to  recruit.  The  folks  at  home,  as 
you  know,  had  always  resented  my  taking  to  the 
brush.  It  was  natural,  perhaps,  for  I  am  the  man  of 
the  family,  my  father  being  gone.  But  an  old  aunt 
who  has  lived  with  us  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
and  who  is  a  regular  wet  blanket — not  to  say  more — 
told  me  that  it  was  a  judgment  on  me  that  my  eyes 
went  wrong.  My  sister  Isabel,  too,  who  is  a  teacher 
at  the  James  Allen  School  at  Dulwich,  and  who  is 
really  fond  of  me,  had  such  a  fit  of  the  blues  over  me 
that  I  got  doubly  depressed.  My  mother,  as  you 
know,  is  a  malade  imaginaire,  so  really  I  began,  as 


146  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

I  said,  to  feel  quite  suicidal.  Then  I  came  here  and 
you  all  cheered  me  up.  I  began  to  hope  immediately 
I  set  foot  in  Hawk's  Nest." 

"You  cheered  us  up,  old  man,"  said  Uncle  Robert 
warmly.  "And  while  I  think  of  it,  your  sister  might 
like  to  spend  her  holiday  at  Hastings,  and  it  would  be 
a  charity  to  Annie,  who  has  only  an  old  fogey  like  me 
in  the  house  since  Philip  went  away.  No,  Dan !  don't 
begin  any  thanking  rot!  It  would  be 'a  favor  to  us, 
not  to  your  sister.  We  have  never  seen  her,  but  if 
you  are  a  fair  sample,  the  more  we  see  of  your  family 
the  better." 

"You  should  invite  Aunt  Lizzie,"  said  Dan,  laugh- 
ing. "You  wouldn't  want  any  more  of  our  family 
after  that!  Aunt  Lizzie  is  one  of  the  most  dismal 
and  most  aggravating  creatures  on  earth,  I  should 
think.  I  never  remember  seeing  her  smile.  She  is 
plain — she  is  not  responsible  for  that.  She  is  plain 
of  speech — for  that  she  is  responsible.  She  never 
forgave  my  mother  for  marrying  a  Catholic,  even 
though  my  mother  did  not  change  her  religion.  She 
was  outraged,  too,  that  I  as  a  boy  should  be  brought 
up  in  my  father's  faith,  though  Isabel  was  brought  up 
in  our  mother's.  When  poor  old  Father  Doughty 
calls  at  the  house,  Aunt  "Lizzie  retires  to  her  bed- 
chamber. Yet  she  is  really  one  of  the  most  unselfish 
people  in  the  world." 

"I  don't  think  we  will  invite  your  Aune  Lizzie," 
said  Mr.  Burns  with  decision. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ALVIN  TRIES  ARTFULLY  TO  BRING  OLD  LOVERS 
TOGETHER 

AFTER  Philip  Barrimore  and  Dan  Webster  had  quitted 
the  garden  at  the  White  House,  Mrs.  Le  Breton  slipped 
her  arm  through  Eweretta's  and  led  her  to  a  se- 
questered spot,  where  a  wooden  seat  was  hidden  by 
thick,  tall  bushes. 

"My  darling!"  she  whispered.  "How  hard  for 
you!  how  cruelly  hard!"  Tears  were  in  the  elder 
woman's  eyes. 

Eweretta  turned  her  beautiful  face  towards  her 
companion.  Her  dark  blue  eyes  had  no  tears  in 
them. 

"Mother,"  she  said  (she  always  called  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  "mother"  now),  "you  must  not  pity  me.  I 
am  fortunate.  I  saw  to-day  how  completely  I  had 
gone  out  of  Philip  Barrimore's  life.  If  we  had 
married,  and  this  had  happened,  then,  indeed,  you 
might  have  pitied  me!  No,  we  are  each  destined  to 
some  good  life-work.  I  have  found  mine.  I  can  be 
a  comfort  to  you  and  to  Uncle  Thomas.  I  have 
thought  much  of  you  both  lately.  Your  life  has  been 
a  tragedy,  dear  mother,  and  that  of  Uncle  Thomas 
scarcely  less  so.  He  has  lived  under  an  imagined 
curse,  which  became  real,  because  he  and  everyone 
else  believed  in  it.  I  myself  have  escaped  a  real 
tragedy,  the  tragedy  of  finding  out  that  I  had  married 

147 


148  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

a  man  whose  love  is  not  lasting.  I  do  not  blame 
Philip.  No  one  ought  to  be  blamed  for  ceasing  to 
love.  Love's  coming  and  going  is  independent  of  our 
will." 

"But,  dearest,"  said  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  "do  you  still 
love  Philip?" 

"The  Philip  I  loved  is  dead,"  she  answered  a  little 
mournfully.  "This  Philip  I  can  meet  without  pain 
from  to-day." 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  thought  silently  for  a  few  moments, 
during  which  time  she  held  one  of  Eweretta's  soft 
hands  between  her  own,  which  were  hardened  and 
knotted  from  the  rough  work  she  had  done  in  Canada, 
mending  shoes. 

At  last  she  said:  "You  ought  to  have  friends  of 
your  own  age,  dear.  It  is  not  right  that  you  should 
be  shut  up  with  two  middle-aged  people.  We  ought 
to  move  away  somewhere  where  nothing  is  known 
about  us,  to  give  you  a  chance." 

Eweretta's  brows  were  suddenly  drawn  together, 
as  if  she  were  in  pain.  "No — never  think  of  it,"  she 
pleaded.  "I  love  the  White  House  and  its  solitude. 
I  could  not  make  friends  with  girls  of  my  own  age. 
I  have  grown  so  old.  But  I  am  happy.  Never  think 
I  am  not  happy !" 

While  the  two  women  talked  together,  Thomas 
Alvin  was  within  the  house,  writing  a  letter.  Every 
now  and  then  he  smiled.  What  a  reparation  it 
would  be  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  his  niece,  if  by 
his  help  the  lovers  became  reunited. 

Philip  had  appeared  to  get  on  so  well  with  "Miss 
Le  Breton."  In  his  hopefulness,  Alvin  quite  lost 
sight  of  the  fact  that  the  supposed  mental  taint 
might  prove  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  girl's 
marriage  with  anyone.  Knowing  as  he  did  that 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  149 

Eweretta  was  both  intellectual  and  well  educated, 
he  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not  be  a  good  wife 
for  anyone.  But  to  other  people  Eweretta  was 
"Aimee  Le  Breton,"  and  he,  Alvin,  had  spread  the 
report  of  her  being  mentally  deficient.  This  report 
had  gained  weight  by  the  appearance  of  the  girl 
herself;  f6r  while  under  the  constant  influence  of 
drugs  she  had  not  appeared  herself.  Also,  she  had 
had  wild,  hysterical  moods  from  the  same  causer 
when  she  would  sing  wild,  mournful  songs  which  had 
been  heard  and  commented  upon  The  sudden 
restoration  to  a  normal  condition  might  be  looked 
upon  with  suspicion  by  the  Gissing  and  Hastings 
folk. 

'  Alvin  was  writing  a  note,  which  he  meant  to  leave 
at  the  bungalow.  He  chuckled  over  the  cleverness 
which  had  given  him  the  idea. 

He  reminded  Philip  that  he  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  be  of  use  to  the  half-sister  of  Eweretta,  and  sug- 
gested that  as  Aimee  had  seemed  to  be  so  interested 
in  the  new  novel,  Philip  should  read  her  a  little  of 
it  at  any  time  when  he  had  leisure.  "If  you  and 
your  friend  Mr.  Webster  would  give  us  the  pleasure 
of  your  company  some  night  at  dinner — any  night  of 
your  own  choosing — we  should  think  it  very  kind  of 
you,"  Alvin  wrote.  "I  have  not  seen  Aimee  so  inter- 
ested before,  as  she  was  in  talking  with  you." 

Having  finished  the  letter,  Alvin  took  it  to  the 
bungalow,  and  gave  it  to  Davis,  for  Philip  was  at  that 
time  on  his  way  to  Ore  with  Dan. 

In  this  way  Alvin  tried  to  play  Providence,  and  to 
bring  together  two  young  people  who  no  longer  de- 
sired each  other. 

Philip,  on  his  return  to  the  bungalow,  was  highly 
flattered  by  the  request  that  he  should  read  some  of 


150  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

his  new  book  aloud.  He  had  been  longing  to  try  the 
effect  of  it  on  someone. 

In  consequence,  the  next  morning,  Soda's  hock 
being  now  all  right,  he  rode  over  to  Hawk's  Nest  to 
tell  Dan  of  the  invitation,  and  to  get  him  to  fix  a  date 
for  them  to  accept  it. 

He  found  that  his  mother  and  Phyllis  had  gone 
into  Robertson  Street  to  do  some  shopping,  and  Dan 
was  at  work  on  Uncle  Robert's  portrait. 

Dan  threw  down  his  brushes  in  an  ecstasy  of  de- 
light when  he  heard  the  news. 

"Of  course  I  will  go!"  he  cried.  "What  do  you 
think!  The  chance  of  my  lifetime!  I  shall  get  Miss 
Le  Breton  for  my  Madonna  yet !" 

Uncle  Robert  got  up  and  stretched  himself,  yawning 
noisily. 

"Of  course  you  will  paint  her!"  he  said  to  Dan, 
"and  get  a  thumping  sum  for  the  work  too.  Old  Alvin 
is  as  rich  as  a  Jew." 

"I  would  not  take  one  penny  for  that  picture," 
affirmed  Dan.  "Mrs.  Barrimore  knows  why;  and 
the  picture  is  to  be  mine,  if,  indeed,  Miss  Le  Breton 
will  consent  to  sit  to  me.  Oh,  why  should  I  make  a 
secret  of  it?  I  want  to  give  it  to  a  church." 

"I  understand,"  said  Uncle  Robert,  who  really  did 
.not  understand  at  all. 

But  Philip  understood,  and,  oddly  enough,  sym- 
pathized. 

"I'll  work  it  for  you,"  he  said  to  Dan.  "Old  Alvin 
seems  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  me.  Would  Wednes- 
day evening  suit  you  to  dine  at  the  White  House? 
You  could  sleep  at  the  bungalow,  you  know.  There 
is  a  spare  room." 

"Delighted,  old  man!"  exclaimed  Dan.  "Are  we 
to  dress?" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  151 

"Oh,  no,  I  think  not,"  said  Philip.  "You  see, 
Alvin  is  a  rough  and  ready  Colonial.  I  doubt  .if  he 
has  ever  possessed  a  dress-suit.  His  brother  was  quite 
different.  He  liked  to  pose  as  the  fine  gentleman." 

How  easily  Philip  seemed  able  to  allude  to  that 
past!  To  Uncle  Robert  there  was  something  nau- 
seating in  the  fact.  If  his  wound  were  healed,  he 
at  least  need  not  advertise  the  fact  quite  so  much. 
Uncle  Robert  did  not  take  Mrs.  Barrimore's  view  of 
the  case.  She  believed  Philip  talked  as  he  did  to  hide 
his  wound.  But  the  uncle  remembered  that  at  the 
time  of  Eweretta's  supposed  death  Philip  had  shouted 
his  grief  from  the  house-tops.  He  had  rushed  off  to 
Canada  to  see  the  grave,  and  had  talked  loudly  about 
the  monastic  life  he  should  henceforth  lead. 

Sudden  changes  of  front  are  usually  resented  by 
the  onlooker. 

If  Mrs.  Barrimore  took  a  too  affectionate  and  prej- 
udiced view  of  Philip's  actions,  Mr.  Burns  was,  with- 
out intending  it,  a  little  unjust. 

Philip  had  felt  the  death  of  his  sweetheart  acutely, 
and  if  he  had  more  quickly  than  seemed  altogether 
decent  reconciled  himself  to  the  inevitable,  it  was 
surely  a  less  selfish  course  than  to  have  continued-  to 
"shout  his  grief  from  the  house-tops." 

If  the  dead  past  could  not  bury  its  dead,  life  would 
be  impossible. 

The  gardener  had  taken  Soda  round  to  the  stables. 
There  were  stables  at  Hawk's  Nest,  though  no  horses 
were  kept.  Mr.  Burns  preferred  to  hire  when  they 
needed  to  drive. 

Philip  would,  of  course,  remain  to  luncheon. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Phyllis,  returning  from  their 
shopping  expedition,  saw  the  marks  of  the  horse's 
feet  on  the  gravel,  and  both  cried  simultaneously : 


152  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Philip  is  here!" 

Philip  saw  his  mother  from  the  window  and  came 
out  to  meet  her.  She  was  radiant,  till  her  son  spoiled 
it  all  by  saying:  "Why,  mother!  Have  you  bor- 
rowed a  hat  and  frock  from  Phyllis  ?" 

He  spoke  banteringly,  but  all  the  same,  the 
underlying  displeasure  in  his  voice  was  sufficiently 
apparent. 

Tears  sprang  to  Mrs.  Barrimore's  eyes,  but  she 
squeezed  them  back  and  smiled  bravely.  t 

"Oh,  this  surely  is  not  too  youthful  a  costume,"  she 
asserted. 

Philip  eyed  her  over. 

The  light  grey  coat  and  skirt  were  plain  enough, 
but  the  dainty  white  waistcoat  and  muslin  chemisette 
offended  Philip.  The  trim  neatness  of  the  fit  gave 
him  the  idea  of  a  tightly-laced  corset  underneath. 
No  woman  who  was  the  mother  of  a  grown-up  son 
ought  to  have  a  figure  like  that ! 

The  black  hat — neither  large  nor  small — with  its 
chiffon  trimmings,  could  not  well  be  condemned.  But 
the  angle  at  which  it  was  pinned  on  the  bright  hair 
was  distinctly  too  coquettish. 

"Your  hat  has  got  on  one  side,"  Philip  remarked. 

"Has  it?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barrimore,  putting  up 
her  well-gloved  hands  to  feel  it.  "I  think  not." 

"Don't  you  believe  him!"  cried  Phyllis.  "It  is 
quite  right.  Philip,  you  are  simply  horrid!  and  you 
have  a  coffee  stain  on  your  shirt-front." 

Philip  flushed  angrily.  Phyllis  had  touched  him 
"on  the  raw."  He  was  most  particular  about  the 
appearance  of  his  linen,  and  he  had  discovered  with 
no  little  annoyance  this  particular  coffee-stain  since 
his  arrival  at  Hawk's  Nest. 

"Never  mind,  Philip,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore  sooth- 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  153 

ingly.  "You  have  left  some  shirts  here  and  can 
change." 

Philip  had  not  remembered  this  fortunate  circum- 
stance, and  rushed  off  at  once  to  his  old  room,  which 
was  at  present  occupied  by  Dan. 

"There  is  a  letter  from  Colonel  Lane  for  you, 
Annie,"  Uncle  Robert  called  from  the  doorstep. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   LETTER 

"My  DEAR  MRS.  BARRIMORE,"  Colonel  Lane's  letter 
began,  "I  may  remain  here  some  time.  Poor  Hen- 
derson has  rallied  for  the  moment,  but  he  seems  to 
find  my  companionship  a  comfort,  so  I  shall  stay.  I 
know  my  dear  friends  at  Hawk's  Nest  will  look  after 
Phyllis. 

"To  me  it  is  indescribably  sad  to  see  a  brave  soldier 
on  his  back,  in  a  home  such  as  this.  He  has  nothing 
beyond  his  half -pay,  and  illness  is  expensive.  He  has 
been  an  invalid  for  six  years  now,  unable  even  to 
walk  without  assistance  at  the  best  of  times.  He  has 
two  boys  at  Dulwich  College.  Mrs.  Henderson, 
poor  soul !  is  a  helpless  sort  of  woman,  and  can  neither 
control  the  boys  nof  the  house,  though  I  am  sure  she 
does  her  best,  according  to  her  lights.  She  goes  to 
early  celebration  every  morning,  wet  or  fine,  but  I 
think  she  would  be  serving  God  better  if  she  stayed 
at  home,  and  saw  that  the  awful  little  maid-of -all- 
work  did  not  burn  poor  Henderson's  toast. 

"She  worries  poor  Henderson  by  reading  prayers 
to  him  in  a  voice  like  a  corncrake's  every  morning  and 
evening.  Occasionally  Henderson  rebels,  using  re- 
grettable language. 

"The  house  is  one  of  a  row,  in  a  road  called  a 
'Grove,'  because  a  few  trees  grow  on  each  side  of 
it.  There  is  a  patch  of  front  garden,  and  a  larger 
patch  behind.  Henderson's  boys  have  laid  his 
particular  patch  waste — the  one  at  the  back,  I  mean — 

154 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  155 

and  unfortunately  that  is  all  Henderson  has  to  look 
at  from  his  window.  He  has  a  kind  of  back-parlor 
allotted  to  him.  He  sleeps  there  (when  he  does 
sleep!)  and  lies  there  all  day. 

"Piano-organs  run  riot. 

"Oh,  if  only  I  had  known  earlier,  when  it  would 
have  been  possible  to  remove  my  poor  friend  to  my 
house  for  a  change ! 

"They  came  here,  it  seems,  to  get  the  boys  edu- 
cated at  Dulwich  College.  But  East  Dulwich  is  one 
of  the  most  depressing  places  I  ever  saw. 

"Henderson  and  I  yarn  about  Army  matters — that 
is,  I  yarn,  and  he  puts  in  something  now  and  then. 
But  he  seems  cheered,  and  forgets  his  pain  while  we 
travel  over  old  roads  after  this  fashion. 

"Really  this  house  makes  me  ashamed  of  myself 
for  being  so  discontented  with  my  own.  I  find 
mine  luxurious  by  contrast.  Mrs.  Ransom  does  keep 
it  clean,  too! 

"Here  the  boys  have  played  the  deuce  with  every- 
thing. Even  the  banister  rails  are  broken.  The 
handles  are  off  most  of  the  doors,  and  the  carpet  in 
the  'front  parlor,'  where  the  boys  take  their  meals  and 
do  their  'home-work,'  has  large  burns  in  it  from  their 
experiments  with  fireworks. 

"They  are  not  bad  boys  by  any  means.  They  are 
a  handsome  pair,  and  full  of  life  and  spirits.  They 
are  simply  uncontrolled,  that  is  all.  I  confiscated  a 
revolver  from  one  of  them  to-day. 

"Poor  Mrs.  Henderson  remonstrates,  and  the  boys 
laugh.  She  retires  to  darn  socks  and  sniff.  (She  has 
a  habit  of  sniffing  which  irritates  Henderson.)  Really 
to  me  it  is  infinitely  sad  to  look  at  her,  and  to  re- 
member what  a  pretty  girl  she  was  when  Henderson 
married  her.  She  had  such  a  bright  pair  of  eyes  in 


156  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

those  days  and  roses  in  her  cheeks.  Now  she  is  plain 
— very  plain.  Her  greying  hair  is  thin,  and  her  eyes 
dull.  Her  face  is  sallow. 

"As  I  write  I  think  of  another  woman,  who  is 
not  so  much  younger  than  Mrs.  Henderson,  and  yet 
is  as  fresh  and  flower-like  as  a  girl,  and  I  think  it 
would  break  my  heart  if  I  saw  her  fade  and  become 
what  my  poor  friend's  wife  is.  Life  is  a  great  mys- 
tery. Why  should  some  suffer  so  much  more  than 
others? 

"This  is  a  dismal  letter,  but  you  always  let  me  talk 
to  you  of  all  in  my  mind,  don't  you?  I  hope  that 
Phyllis  does  not  give  you  any  anxiety.  I  told  you 
that  she  had  been  writing  to  Captain  Arbuthnot? 
I  meant  to  write  to  him  myself,  but  it  got  put  off. 
Perhaps  I  had  best  let  it  alone  for  the  present.  Often 
it  is  best  to  do  just  nothing,  isn't  it? 

"Has  Philip  been  over?  Remember  me  to  him 
when  you  see  him,  and  tell  Robert  I  love  him  well! 

"As  for  you!  whatever  is  best  in  me  is  yours  al- 
ready!" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  read  this  letter  in  her  bedroom  with 
the  door  locked. 

She  laughed  and  cried  a  little  over  it,  and  finally 
did  what  most  women  do  with  epistles  they  greatly 
prize.  She  put  it  inside  her  bodice. 

One  little  phrase  in  this  letter  came  as  balm  to 
her  troubled  spirits  after  Philip's  remarks. 

To  Philip  she  was  "the  mother" — a  person  of  the 
last  generation  trying  to  bloom  out  of  due  season; 
but  to  Colonel  Lane  she  was  still  young  and  adorable. 

Would  Philip  ever  know,  ever  begin  even  to  under- 
stand the  sacrifice  his  mother  had  made  for  him? 

Philip  had  heard   from  Dan's   open  window   his 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN         •      157 

uncle's  remark  about  the  letter,  and  found  in  the 
fact  of  Colonel  Lane's  writing  to  his  mother  another 
cause  for  resentment. 

"Why  didn't  Colonel  Lane  write  to  you  instead  of 
to  my  mother?"  Philip  asked  his  uncle,  who  was  un- 
corking a  bottle  of  claret  in  the  dining-room  before 
the  others  came  in. 

"That  is  his  business,  I  suppose,"  snapped  Uncle 
Robert. 

"I  rather  think  it  is  mine,"  asserted  Philip. 

"Don't  you  make  an  ass  of  yourself,  Philip,"  Uncle 
Robert  said,  raising  his  voice. 

Philip  turned  on  his  heel.  He  had  more  than  half 
a  mind  to  get  Soda  and  go  back  to  the  bungalow 
without  lunching. 

In  the  entrance  hall  he  encountered  Phyllis,  who 
drew  him  into  the  smoking-room. 

"Philip!"  she  ejaculated  tragically,  "I  am  miser- 
able!" 

"Whatever  about?"  inquired  the  young  man  rather 
sourly.  He  was  for  the  moment  miserable  himself, 
and  in  no  mood  to  hear  Phyllis's  troubles. 

"Oh,  don't  look  so  cold  and  hard,  Philip!  You  have 
always  been  my  friend.  I  have  always  come  to 
you." 

Philip  was  still  smarting  under  Uncle  Robert's 
snub,  and  was  still  distinctly  unsympathetic  in 
manner. 

"If  the  account  of  your  misery  is  likely  to  be  a 
long  one,  you  had  best  put  it  off  till  after  luncheon. 
The  gong  will  sound  directly,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  if  you  don't  want  to  hear!"  ejaculated  Phyllis 
childishly. 

"But  I  do,  dear,"  said  Philip,  more  kindly.  (After 
all,  it  was  scarcely  manly  to  vent  his  ill-humor  on 


158  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

this  girl.)  "You  see,  Phyllis,  we  should  be  inter- 
rupted," he  added,  showing  her  his  watch — a  gold 
one  and  a  gift  from  Uncle  Robert. 

"I  almost  wish  I  had  never  been  born,"  Phyllis 
asserted,  not  deigning  to  look  at  the  watch.  She  came 
close  to  Philip,  clutching  his  arm  and  peering  up  at 
him  with  childish,  troubled  eyes.  "Philip,  don't  let 
Mr.  Webster  go  to  the  White  House,"  she  blurted 
out. 

"Why?"  he  asked  her  in  amazement. 

"Oh,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  answered 
incoherently.  "Stop  him  from  going.  You  can  if  you 
like.  Do!  do!  dear  Philip!" 

The  gong  sounded  and  there  came  the  flutter  of 
silk  skirts  on  the  staircase.  Mrs.  Barrimore,  fresh 
and  smiling,  but  with  trouble  in  the  dear  grey  eyes  for 
those  who  could  read  them,  entered  the  dining-room. 
Dan  was  already  there  with  Uncle  Robert,  and  pres- 
ently Phyllis  and  Philip  came  in. 

Philip  was  so  occupied  about  the  puzzling  remarks 
he  had  just  been  hearing  in  the  smoking-room  that 
he  forgot  to  resent  his  mother's  very  charming  appear- 
ance. Love  can  take  ten  years  off  any  woman's  looks, 
and  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  a  dear  secret  hidden  under 
the  dainty  bodice. 

"Well,  Annie !  What's  the  old  Colonel  got  to  say  ?" 
Uncle  Robert  asked,  with  a  defiant  glance  at  Philip, 
who  did  not  see  it. 

"The  letter  is  all  about  the  Hendersons,"  Mrs.  Bar- 
rimore answered  with  one  of  those  lovely  blushes  of 
hers. 

"They  are  most  dreadfully  poor,"  she  went  on  hur- 
riedly, to  cover  her  confusion.  "There  are  two  boys 
at  Dulwich  College.  I  wonder  what  they  will  do  when 
they  leave  school!" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  159 

"They  must  go  to  Sandhurst,"  affirmed  Uncle  Robert. 
"But  where  is  the  money  to  come  from?"  she  asked 
not  unnaturally. 

"Me!"  shouted  her  brother.     "M  E— me!" 

Everyone  started,  and  Philip  said:  "Henderson  is 
not  a  friend  of  yours — I  don't  see — " 

"No,  you  don't  see,  Philip.  You  very  often  don't 
see.  Those  boys  must  have  a  chance.  It  is  the  busi- 
ness of  old  bachelors  who  are  well-off  to  look  to  these 
things — also — Bonum  quo  communices  eo  melius — 
which  being  interpreted  for  little  Phyllis,  means,  'The 
good  in  which  you  let  others  share  becomes  thereby 
the  better.'  We  will  have  a  confab  after  luncheon, 
Annie." 

Uncle  Robert,  who  was  never  quite  so  happy  as 
when  confronted  by  somebody's  difficulties  which  he 
thought  he  could  remove,  carried  his  sister  to  his  den 
as  soon  as  luncheon  was  over  to  talk  about  the  Hen- 
dersons. 

"Lane  will  do  all  he  can,  I  know,"  Uncle  Robert 
began,  when  he  had  carefully  closed  the  door.  "But 
you  know,  Annie,  he  ought  to  keep  what  he  has  for 
little  Phyll.  What  do  you  think  of  a  hamper  of 
game,  and  a  few  dozens  of  good  wine  for  a  start  off? 
The  country  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  the  poor  grati- 
tude she  shows  to  the  men  who  have  fought  for  her 
and  suffered  for  her.  No  proper  provision  is  made 
for  soldiers  at  any  time.  Think  of  it,  Annie!  Many 
a  good  officer  is  lost  to  our  Army  because  he  can't 
afford  the  thing.  An  officer  gets  about  enough  to 
pay  his  laundry  bill,  and  when  he  is  too  old,  or  when 
he  is  no  further  use  to  the  nation,  he  can  live  in — 
East  Dulwich!  He  can  do  as  he  can  in  genteel 
poverty.  'Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er,'  sings  Scott. 
A  nice  bed  a  grateful  country  gives  the  soldier  to  rest 


160  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

on!  But  talk  never  did  anything.  A  hamper  goes 
off  this  afternoon.  Come,  Annie,  my  love,  help  me 
with  your  woman's  wit!  The  hamper  must  go  to 
Lane,  of  course." 

Dan  had  gone  off  to  the  room  where  he  worked, 
which  was  big  and  airy  and  had  a  north  light.  The 
room  had  been  empty  until  Uncle  Robert  had  it  con- 
verted into  a  temporary  studio  for  Dan. 

Phyllis,  left  alone  with  Philip,  remarked :  "I  sup- 
pose Mr.  Webster  is  safe  out  of  the  way.  I  heard  Mr. 
Webster  go  to  the  studio — and  Mrs.  Barrimore  and 
Mr.  Burns  will  be  engaged  for  hours,  so  we  can  have 
our  talk." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Philip,  'yawning.  "The 
sooner  it's  over  the  sooner  to  rest — and  good-bye  to 
Miss  Phyll  and  her  moaning!" 

"Don't  joke,  Philip,"  cried  Phyllis,  with  an  im- 
patient shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "I  am  serious,  I 
tell  you — really  I  am.  I  am  miserable,  and  you  are 
very  unkind  to  laugh  at  me." 

"I  won't  laugh.  Forge  ahead!  Look!  my  face 
is  as  long  as  a  "fiddle,"  said  Philip,  trying  not  to  smile. 

At  that  same  moment  Mrs.  Barrimore,  referring  to 
Colonel  Lane's  letter,  found  a  postcript  which  she 

had  overlooked.     It  ran: 

i 

"I  have  just  read  over  this  letter,  and  find  I  have 
been  a  little  unjust  to  poor  Mrs.  Henderson.  She 
really  has  her  hands  full  with  her  invalid  husband, 
and  the  boys  are  of  necessity  left  a  lot  to  themselves. 
Then  the  inadequate  maid — the  limited  income! 
Some  women  would  have  taken  to  drink  or  drugs! 
Mrs.  Henderson  has  only  taken  to  religion!  Under 
happier  circumstances  I  believe  she  would  be  very 
different." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WORSE   COMPLICATIONS 

"PHILIP,  it  would  be  horrible  if  Mr.  Webster  fell  in 
love  with  Miss  Le  Breton !"  began  Phyllis. 

"Why?"  inquired  Philip. 

"Why?  How  can  you  ask!  You  know  she  has 
been  insane,"  said  Phyllis  with  indignation. 

"She  is  just  like  other  people  now,"  rejoined 
Philip. 

"But  people  who  have  once  been  insane  may  be- 
come so  again,"  Phyllis  reminded  him. 

"Possibly  Miss  Le  Breton  was  never  insane  at  all, 
but  only  hysterical,"  suggested  Philip.  "She  struck 
me  as  a  perfectly  normal  young  woman.  But  whether 
she  is  or  is  not,  Dan  is  not  likely  to  fall  in  love  with 
her." 

"Isn't  he!"  cried  Phyllis.  "He  absolutely  raves 
about  her." 

"Painters  always  rave  about  a  model  which  is  to 
their  taste.  But  to  drop  the  subject  of  Dan.  What 
are  you  miserable  about?" 

Phyllis  most  unexpectedly  burst  into  tears,  burying 
her  face  in  Philip's  waistcoat. 

"Oh,  Philip !"  she  sobbed.  "L  have  found  out 
my  mistake!  Dad" — (sob) — "was  right  after  all!" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Philip,  now  really 
alarmed. 

"I  mean" — (sob) — "that  I  ought  not  to  have 
161 


1 62  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

married" — (sob).  "I  didn't  know  my  own  mind!" 
(More  sobs.) 

Philip  put  the  girl  from  him  and  dabbed  his  waist- 
coat with  his  handkerchief. 

"Look  here,  Phyllis,"  he  said  firmly,  "you  did 
a  very  silly  thing  in  inducing  Captain  Arbuthnot  to 
marry  you;  but  it  was  only  silly.  It  was  not  a 
crime.  It  will  be  a  crime  if  you  are  false  to  the  man 
you  compelled  to  act  in  a  way  against  which  I  am 
sure  his  sense  of  honor  revolted.  The  one  thing 
you  have  to  do  now,  is  to  stand  firmly  by  the  vows 
you  made  and  never  let  that  unfortunate  man  find 
out  what  a  shallow  creature  he  married.  What  has 
changed  you  all  at  once?  you  who  were  so  eager  for 
letters?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Phyllis  crossly.  "How 
should  I  know?  You  see,  Charlie  is  such  a  long  way 
off,  and  I  have  scarcely  heard  from  him  and — oh, 
he  doesn't  seem  so  nice  as  he  did,  now  I  can't  see 
him — and — and,  oh,  I  don't  know!  Charlie  ought 
not  to  have  listened  to  me.  He  is  heaps  older  than  I 
am !  I  can't  help  it,  Philip,  can  I,  if  I  find  out  I  made 
a  mistake?" 

Philip  was  stern  and  silent.  Anger  filled  his  heart 
as  he  thought  of  the  gallant  young  soldier  out  in 
India.  But  he  had  some  pity,  too,  for  Phyllis — fickle, 
lovable  Phyllis! 

"Don't  look  so  angry,  Philip,"  pleaded  Phyllis,  "I 
have  something  else  to  tell  you,  and  if  you  turn  on  me 
I  shall  be  desperate!  I  love  Dan — yes,  I  love  him! 
Now  hate  and  despise  me  if  you  dare!  If  you  do,  if 
you  throw  me  over,  you  may  be  sorry — after!" 

"This  is  awful!"  groaned  Philip.  "I  never 
dreamed  it  was  as  bad  as  this.  It  is  downright 
wicked  of  you!  I  must  say  it,reven  if  it  hurts  you. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  163 

You  must  have  seen  this  coming.  You  could  have 
stopped  it  if  you  had  any  sense  of  right,  and  even 
decency." 

Her  next  words  came  calmly.  "Philip,  have  I  ever 
been  even  a  little  free  with  Mr.  Webster  since  he 
came  back?  I  never  laugh  and  chat  with  him;  I  am 
never  alone  with  him;  I  am  acting  as  a  wife  should. 
But  I  am  miserable — miserable!  Won't  you  pity  me 
a  little?" 

"Poor  little  girl!"  said  Philip  soothingly.  "Yes,  I 
have  noticed  that  you  never  flirt  with  Dan.  There, 
don't  begin  to  cry  again !" 

She  was  crying  weakly,  pitifully.  Philip  took  her 
in  his  arms  to  comfort  her,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
child. 

As  fate  would  have  it,  Dan  opened  the  door  quietly 
and  put  his  head  in. 

Immediately  he  retired,  smiling.  Philip  and  Phyllis 
did  not  see  him,  and  Dan  kept  his  own  counsel. 

"Run  off  to  your  room  and  bathe  your  eyes  before 
mother  or  uncle  see  you,"  advised  Philip,  and  the  woe- 
begone little  figure  fled  from  the  room  and  up  the 
staircase. 

Philip  strode  up  and  down  with  his  hands  thrust 
deep  into  his  pockets. 

"This  is  a  nice  kettle  of  fish,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"The  old  Colonel  had  longer  sight  than  any  of  us. 
My  only  hope  is  her  fickleness.  This  infatuation  for 
Dan  may  burn  itself  out.  But  Dan?  what  if  he, 
thinking  Phyllis  free,  should  fall  in  love  with  her!" 

The  promise  had  been  given  to  Phyllis  that  her 
secret  should  be  kept.  But  in  some  way  Dan  must  be 
warned. 

Ah!  there  was  Dan  smoking  in  the  garden.  No 
time  must  be  lost. 


1 64  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Philip  found  Dan  chuckling  to  himself. 

"I  want  a  chat  with  you.  Dan,"  said  Philip, 
scowling. 

"Anything  the  matter,  old  man?"  inquired  Dan, 
still  smiling. 

"I  want  a  word  about  Phyllis,"  said  Philip. 

"Oh !"  answered  Dan,  winking. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  your  asinine  be- 
havior," said  Philip  indignantly. 

"Forgive  me!"  said  Dan,  growing  serious;  "I  was 
in  a  ridiculous  mood." 

"I  want  to  warn  you,  Dan,  not  to  let  yourself  get 
too  fond  of  Phyllis,"  said  Philip.  "I  want  to  tell  you 
that  there  is  an  unsurmountable  obstacle  to — to  the 
possibility  of  anything  between  you  two. 

"My  dear  fellow!"  broke  out  Dan,  laughing  out- 
right, "make  yourself  quite  easy!  I  have  no  inten- 
tion whatever  of  poaching  on  your  preserves!" 

"My  preserves,  man!  Heavens!  what  can  you  be 
thinking  of?" 

Dan  eyed  his  companion  with  whimsical  criticism 
in  his  merry  blue  eyes,  but  he  did  not  tell  of  the  em- 
brace he  had  witnessed  so  short  a  time  before.  "They 
want  to  keep  it  dark  for  some  reason — very  likely 
the  Colonel,"  he  thought  within  himself.  But  what 
he  said  was : 

"All  right,  old  man,  no  offence  meant — a  natural 
conclusion,  you  know,  from  your  remarks,  and  Miss 
Lane's  frequent  visits  to  the  bungalow.  I  see  I  was 
'off  the  trail/  as  old  Alvin  says." 

"You  were,  very  much  indeed  off  the  trail,"  com- 
mented Philip. 

"He  needn't  tell  such  whoppers  about  it,"  Dan  said 
inwardly;  "and  I  don't  see  why  he  should  keep  it  a 
secret  from  me." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  165 

Aloud  he  said :  "Whatever  your  reasons  may  be 
for  warning  me  not  to  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Lane,  I 
will  respect  them.  But  there  is  not  much  to  be 
feared  in  that  quarter.  The  little  lady  did  flirt  with 
me  when  I  was  a  blind  man,  but  now  she  is  all  pro- 
priety." 

Philip  was  satisfied,  for  he  knew  that  Dan's  word 
was  as  good  as  another  man's  oath. 

"I  am  not  staying  on  to  dinner,"  Philip  next 
said.  "I  want  to  get  to  work;  moreover,  the  even- 
ings begin  to  close  in,  and  the  road  is  lonely  and 
rutty,  and  I  don't  want  any  more  trouble  with  Soda's 
hock." 

Seeing  his  mother  coming  towards  them,  he  ex- 
plained to  her  that  he  was  going. 

"When  will  you  bring  the  story  to  read  to  us,  dear  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  some  time,"  he  answered.  "I  am  going  to 
read  it  to  the  folks  at  the  White  House.  Alvin  asked 
me  to  do  so.  He  thinks  it  will  interest  Miss  Le  Breton. 
You  know  I  always  said  I  would  do  anything  I  could 
for  poor  Eweretta's  half-sister." 

"Dear,  faithful  heart!"  ejaculated  the  mother. 

Somehow  the  remark  made  Philip  very  uncom- 
fortable. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

PHYLLIS    THE    MARTYR! 

OCTOBER    had    come,    still    Colonel    Lane    did    not 
return. 

Mr.  Burns's  portrait  was  finished,  but  Dan  was  still 
an  inmate  of  Hawk's  Nest,  for  not  only  had  Eweretta 
consented  to  sit  to  him  for  his  Madonna,  but  he  had 
been  commissioned  by  Alvin  to  do  another  portrait  of 
her  for  himself. 

Philip  had  read  some  chapters  of  his  new  novel 
to  the  inmates  of  the  White  House,  as  desired,  but  it 
had  not  been  received  with  the  enthusiasm  he  had 
confidently  expected. 

In  this  novel  Philip  had  embodied  part  of  his 
own  story.  The  first  part,  dealing  with  the  love 
romance,  was  charmingly  told,  but  it  went  on  to  show 
how  the  hero  entered  upon  a  new  life  after  the  death 
of  the  heroine,  and  saw  that,  after  all,  she  would  not 
have  been  the  best  wife  for  him.  He  needed  a  woman 
who  could  advance  his  interests — a  society  personage, 
and  searched  for  and  found  her.  Now  and  then 
some  poetic  allusion  would  be  made  to  the  first  love 
after  the  marriage  with  the  lady  of  quality,  but  the 
keynote  of  the  book  was,  that  a  marriage  of  con- 
venience worked  best,  that  early  loves  were  as  a 
beautiful  springtime  which  must  give  place  to  summer, 
and  that  the  summer  was  the  real  full  life  of  a  man, 
in  which  the  real  purposes  of  his  existence  occupied 
his  horizon. 

166 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  167 

Philip  had  been  disappointed,  his  vanity  had  been 
wounded  by  the  reception  his  story  got  at  the  White 
House.  He  had  not  expected  appreciation  from  the 
rough  Colonial,  or  from  the  commonplace  Mrs.  Le 
Breton,  but  he  had  wrongly  imagined  that  Miss  Le 
Breton  would  be  different.  All  she  had  said  was 
that  the  language  was  beautiful  and  that  no  doubt 
the  story  was  true  to  life,  but  that  it  was  very  de- 
pressing. 

Now  Philip  considered  the  book  exactly  the  reverse 
to  depressing.  He  thought  it  was  inspiriting  the  way 
the  hero  rose  above  his  early  sorrow  and  made  a  suc- 
cess of  his  life. 

However,  after  that  one  evening  he  did  not  visit 
his  neighbors.  He  did  not  say  he  would  never  visit 
them  again,  even  in  his  own  mind,  but  he  had  no 
inclination  to  go.  He  shut  himself  inside  his  bunga- 
low, working  on  and  improving  his  novel.  A  little 
later  on  he  meant  to  spend  a  few  weeks  in  London. 
He  had  done  this  occasionally  for  the  past  few  years, 
and  it  had  been  on  one  of  the  visits  that  he  had  met 
Eweretta,  who  was  staying  with  her  father  at  the 
same  hotel. 

Shut  in  the  bungalow,  Philip  often  found  himself 
reverting  to  Aimee  Le  Breton. 

No,  he  decided,  she  was  not  nearly  so  interesting 
as  he  had  at  first  thought  her.  Moreover,  the  like- 
ness to  Eweretta  was  only  skin  deep.  In  fact,  it  was 
scarcely  that.  This  girl  had  a  totally  different  ex- 
pression— the  outcome  of  a  totally  different  set  of 
thoughts — from  Eweretta. 

Eweretta  had  not  been  in  any  sense  critical.  Aimee 
Le  Breton  was  critical.  Eweretta  had  been  frankly 
outspoken;  this  girl  was  wrapped  about  with  reserve. 
The  thing  that  puzzled  him  most  in  her  was  her 


1 68  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

intelligence.  It  seemed  impossible  that  she  could  ever 
have  been  mentally  deficient. 

Dan  looked  in  at  the  bungalow  always  on  his  way 
home  from  the  White  House,  and  his  extravagant 
admiration  for  Aimee  Le  Breton  left  no  room  for 
anxiety  in  Philip's  mind  lest  Dan,  thrown  as  he  was 
so  constantly  with  Phyllis,  should  begin  to  care  for 
her  in  a  way  not  allowable. 

Phyllis  rode  over  on  her  cycle  to  pour  forth  com- 
plaints into  Philip's  ear,  and  to  weep,  and  call  herself 
hard  names,  reserving  even  harder  ones  for  Captain 
Arbuthnot  for  having  consented  to  the  proposal  to  be 
married  secretly. 

Philip  rated  and  petted  the  girl  by  turns. 

One  thing  he  insisted  upon,  and  that  was  that  she 
should,  under  his  eye  and  direction,  write  affectionate- 
ly to  her  husband. 

"You  can't  want  to  be  so  cruel  as  to  make  him 
suffer  more,  when  he  is  having  such  a  hard 
time  already,"  Philip  told  her.  "You  have  made  him 
marry  you,  and  you've  just  got  to  make  the  best  of 
it." 

"And  I — I  breaking  my  heart  all  the  time  because 
I  have  found  the  man  I  could  love  too  late !" 

"Breaking  your  fiddle-sticks!"  said  Philip  with 
irony.  "Your  heart  isn't  worth  calling  a  heart! 
But  you've  got  a  head,  and  I  recommend  you  to  use 
it.  Believe  me,  love  is  an  infantile  ailment  like 
measles,  and  when  you've  had  it  you're  immune.  In 
my  opinion  you  have  never  had  it  at  all,  but  will  be 
immune  all  the  same." 

"That  is  just  as  good  as  calling  me  shallow  and 
heartless,"  said  Phyllis  resentfully. 

"No,"  rejoined  Philip  reflectively.  "You  are 
sowing  your  wild  oats  after  a  feminine  fashion,  that  is 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  169 

all.  Possibly — mind,  I  say  possibly — you  will  grow 
what  they  call  a  heart  some  time,  and  that  husband 
of  yours  shall  know  nothing  of  the  interval  between  if 
I  can  prevent  it." 

Phyllis  stamped  her  small  foot  petulantly.  "Can't 
you  see,  Philip,"  she  cried,  "that  it  will  be  impossible 
for  me  to  live  with  Charlie  when  he  comes  back?" 

"No,  I  can't!"  snapped  Philip. 

It  was  just  when  this  last  sentence  in  this  par- 
ticular interview  had  been  uttered,  that  Dan  himself 
came  in  unannounced. 

He  smiled  as  he  saw  the  receding  skirt  passing 
through  the  door  which  led  to  another  room. 

"I  am  not  going  to  make  a  visitation,  old  man," 
said  Dan  breezily.  "Just  looked  in  to  say  'How-do- 
you-do'  and  be  off." 

"Sit  down  and  have  a  smoke,"  said  Philip,  "you 
can't  be  in  a  hurry." 

"It  is  awfully  good  of  you,"  replied  Dan  (who  was 
inwardly  admiring  what  he  thought  was  the  mastery 
of  hospitality  over  inclination),  "but  I  must  get  back. 
Mr.  Burns  and  I  are  going  over  to  Winchelsea  after 
luncheon,  and  I  must  cycle  back  quickly." 

"Now  I  shall  have  to  stop  longer  or  I  shall  over- 
take him,"  said  Phyllis,  who  had  emerged  from  the 
inner  room  as  soon  as  she  heard  Dan  depart. 

Philip  yawned.    He  was  getting  a  little  tired  of  the 
business. 
•    "Wait  half  an  hour  then,"  he  said. 

"No!  you  are  so  cross  to-day.  I  shall  go  and 
ride  round  here  for  a  bit  and  then  go  home,"  said 
Phyllis. 

"Good-bye,  then!" 

"You  are  glad  to  get  rid  of  me!" 

"You  say  so." 


170  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"You  think  so." 

Philip  laughed — not  very  pleasantly. 

Phyllis  walked  out  of  the  bungalow  with  her  small 
nose  in  the  air,  glancing  back  over  her  shoulder,  how- 
ever, to  see  if  Philip  had  come  to  the  window  to  call 
her  back. 

Not  seeing  him,  she  mounted  her  cycle  and  rode  off. 

After  a  little  dallying,  she  took  the  road  to  Hastings. 

She  had  ridden  about  half  a  mile  when  she  came 
upon  Dan,  who  was  doing  something  to  his  cycle. 
Naturally  she  slowed  up  to  ask  him  what  was  wrong. 

"It's  all  right  now,"  said  Dan  cheerfully,  "we  can 
ride  on  together.  Have  you  been  to  the  bungalow?" 
he  added  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Phyllis,  "and  Philip  was  so 
disagreeable !" 

"You  interfered  with  his  work,  I  expect,"  laughed 
Dan.  "That  is  a  sure  and  certain  way  of  making  an 
author  disagreeable." 

They  rode  on  for  a  time  without  speaking,  for  the 
snorting  of  a  motor-car  made  itself  heard,  and  all 
their  wits  were  needed  to  keep  well  out  of  the  way  of 
the  monster. 

When  the  motor  had  passed  Dan  said:  "I  am  sad 
to  think  I  shall  soon  be  going  away,  Miss  Lane.  My 
work  at  the  White  House  is  nearly  finished." 

Phyllis  felt  her  throat  suddenly  constricted.  She 
averted  her  head.  She  could  not  answer. 

"Possibly  I  may  see  your  father,"  went  on  Dan, 
swerving  a  little  to  avoid  some  sharp  stones.  "You 
see,  East  Dulwich  is  not  far  from  Dulwich  village, 
where  I  live." 

"Father  will  be  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  coldly — 
the  more  coldly  that  she  had  so  much  warmth  to 
hide. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  171 

"I  shall  be  glad  enough  to  see  him  anyway,  if  I  get 
the  chance,"  went  on  Dan.  "Take  care,  Miss  Lane! 
you  very  nearly  went  into  the  ditch!" 

"How  stupid  of  me!"  said  Phyllis  tonelessly. 
"There  is  room  enough  in  this  road,  too." 

She  knew  that  by  some  inward  wil fulness  she  had 
kept  her  cycle  as  far  as  she  could  from  that  of  her 
companion. 

"It  will  be  strange  to  be  back  at  home,"  Dan 
next  said.  "It  is  a  pretty  home,  too,  in  its  way — a 
big,  old,  really  old,  cottage,  with  little  latticed 
windows  with  diamond-shaped  panes.  There  is  a 
porch  with  two  seats  in  it,  and  that  and  all  the  cot- 
tage is  covered  with  creepers — not  Virginian — the 
tool  house  is  covered  with  that — but  rose,  and  honey- 
suckle, and  blue  clematis,  and  a  grape-vine.  The 
garden  is  pretty,  too,  quite  a  cottage  garden,  with 
vegetables  and  fruit  trees  and  borders  of  flowers." 

"Is  there  anywhere  to  paint?"  asked  Phyllis. 

"Surely  Philip  has  told  you  of  my  gem  of  a  studio 
in  the  garden?"  asked  the  surprised  Dan. 

"Oh,  I  remember  now,"  said  Phyllis.  "You  have 
leopard  skins  on  the  floor,  and  some  old  furniture  that 
Philip  said  was  quite  beautiful." 

"I  got  it  for  a  song  at  a  sale  at  one  of  the  big  old- 
fashioned  Dulwich  houses.  My  sister  Isabel  corrects 
exercise-books  there  in  the  evenings.  She  brings 
them  home  from  the  James  Allen  School,  you  know. 
She  can't  do  them  in  the  same  room  with  Aunt  Lizzie 
and  my  mother.  Aunt  Lizzie  talks  without  stopping, 
and  my  mother  chirps  in  now  and  then." 

Phyllis  put  a  question  now  and  then  to  keep  Dan 
on  this  topic.  She  had  a  mortal  dread  that  if  he  began 
to  rave  about  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  Miss  Le 
Breton,  she  should  betray  herself. 


172  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

It  chimed  a  quarter  past  one  as  the  cyclists  reached 
Blacklands  Church. 

"We  shall  be  quite  in  time,"  said  Dan. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  shall  be  quite  in  time,"  echoed  Phyllis 
in"a  tired  voice. 

Dan  noticed  then  for  the  first  time  that  his  com- 
panion was  growing  thinner,  and  that  her  face  was 
pale  in  spite  of  the  brisk  ride. 

"Do  you  not  feel  well?"  he  asked  suddenly,  and  in 
a  very  sympathetic  voice. 

"Oh,  please  don't  pity  me!"  cried  Phyllis,  flush- 
ing up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  "That  is  the  last  thing 
I  could  stand  from  you" 

Dan  was  much  troubled,  and  not  a  little  puzzled. 

"I  am  sorry,"  was  all  he  found  to  say. 

"I  am  well  enough,"  broke  out  Phyllis,  "but  I  have 
troubles — like  other  people." 

Dan  was  bewildered.  The  tone  in  which  the  girl 
spoke  hinted  at  something  serious.  A  lover's  "tiff" 
was  a  trifling  matter.  If  she  and  Philip  had  fallen  out 
they  would  fall  in  again. 

"Take  long  views,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said  kindly. 
"Clouds  pass,  you  know." 

She  laughed  a  bitter  little  laugh. 

"Clouds  do,"  she  said  in  a  hard  voice,  "but  tragedy 
doesn't.  There  are  things  that  last  all  one's  life." 

"Good  God!"  ejaculated  Dan.  "You  can't  mean 
that  you  have  a  trouble  so  very  serious  ?" 

"Say  no  more  about  it,"  said  Phyllis;  "as  I  told 
you,  pity  is  the  last  thing  I  could  bear  from  you" 

If  Dan  had  been  furnished  with  the  usual  amount 
of  vanity  possessed  by  good-looking  and  attractive 
young  men,  he  might  have  guessed  the  truth.  But  he 
was  not.  He  was  singularly  free  from  vanity.  The 
emphasis  on  the  pronoun  was  quite  lost  upon  him. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  173 

All  he  grasped  was  that  she  objected  to  pity.  So  he 
remained  silent. 

Happily  they  soon  reached  Hawk's  Nest,  and  Phyllis 
was  able  to  hurry  to  her  room. 

Once  there,  she  wept  with  rage  that  she  had  spoken 
as  she  had.  She  felt  she  could  not  endure  it  if  Dan 
should  guess  the  state  of  her  heart,  especially  as  she 
was  sure — yes,  perfectly  sure — that  he  cared  nothing 
for  her  beyond  what  he  cared  for  that  sister  Isabel  of 
whom  he  talked. 

Of  course,  if  Dan  had  cared  differently,  it  would 
all  have  been  equally  hopeless,  but  still  she  wanted 
him  to  care.  She  foolishly  imagined  that  she  could 
take  up  what  she  called  her  "cross,"  if  only  she  could 
know  that  Dan  loved  her. 

And  Philip!  He  had  made  her  a  hypocrite,  she 
told  herself  savagely.  He  had  made  her  write  affec- 
tionately to  her  husband  when  she  had  not  meant  a 
word  she  wrote. 

Phyllis  considered  herself  a  downright  martyr. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
"DRAT  LOVE  AFFAIRS!"  SAID  MRS.  PICKETT 

EWERETTA  was  not  destined  to  be  so  completely 
isolated  after  all,  for  one  fine  afternoon  Mrs.  Pickett 
took  a  sudden  resolve,  and  putting  on  her  "best 
things,"  walked  across  the  field  and  made  a  state 
call  at  the  White  House,  where  she  was  so  kindly 
received,  that  she  was  emboldened  to  ask  the  whole 
party  to  take  tea  at  the  Farm  on  the  following  after- 
noon. 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  so  there  was  a 
grand  "clean-up"  of  the  big  house-place  (not  that 
it  seemed  to  need  it!),  and  there  was  a  great  baking 
of  cakes  and  fruit-pies.  The  best  china  and  table- 
linen  were  got  out,  together  with  some  really  fine  old 
silver,  and  when  the  guests  arrived  the  table  was  al- 
ready laid  for  tea. 

Minnie  had  picked  a  huge  bunch  of  dahlias  and 
placed  them  in  a  beautiful  old  china  jug  in  the  center 
of  the  table,  which  was  loaded  with  good  things,  for 
tea  was  a  genuine  meal  at  Pickett's  Farm. 

Pickett  was  performing  his  ablutions  in  the  big 
kitchen  that  joined  the  house-place,  where  there  was 
a  long  sink  with  a  pump  at  one  end  of  it.  Mrs.  Pickett 
and  Minnie  were  "dressed  for  company." 

A  big  log  fire  burned  cheerfully  in  the  old-fashioned 
fireplace,  making  the  brass  and  copper  utensils  glitter 
and  flash.  The  "settle"  and  some  high-backed  arm- 

174 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  175 

chairs  were  drawn  up  near  the  fire.  Altogether  the 
place  looked  the  picture  of  hospitality  and  comfort. 
A  sweet  scent  of  apples  was  perceptible  in  the  air.  A 
bob-tailed  sheep-dog  and  a  collie  lay  asleep  upon  a 
rug  by  the  fender,  and  Alvin  made  friends  with  them 
while  Mrs.  Pickett  conducted  Eweretta  and  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  upstairs  to  remove  their  outer  garments. 

Soon  Pickett  appeared,  and  sat  down  with  Alvin 
near  the  fire,  and  the  two  men  began  to  discuss  farm- 
ing from  the  English  and  the  Canadian  point  of 
view. 

"I  have  been  pulling  and  carting  mangold  to-day," 
said  Pickett,  handing  a  tobacco-jar  to  Alvin,  with  an 
invitation  to  "fill  up."  "I  want  to  get  them  in  while 
the  weather  is  favorable." 

"Some  believe  in  leaving  them  longer  to  improve," 
said  Alvin,  "but  I  think  you  are  right.  A  frost  might 
come  any  time  now.  It  is  very  cold  to-day." 

"I  see  you  know  a  bit  about  farming,"  said  Pickett 
with  approval. 

"I  know  a  bit  about  most  things,"  said  Alvin.  "You 
have  to,  out  in  the  North- West.  But  farming  in  Can- 
ada is  very  different  from  farming  in  England." 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Pickett  with  interest. 

"And  you  want  plenty  of  grit  to  stand  the  life," 
went  on  Alvin. 

"But  it  is  cheap  living,  isn't  it?"  inquired  Pickett. 

Alvin  laughed.  "It  is  double  what  it  is  here,"  he 
said.  "Animals,  wagons,  agricultural  implements 
cost  a  lot  out  there.  We  depend  a  lot  on  salt  pork, 
and  our  guns.  Prairie  chicken  is  good  eating.  It  isn't 
unlike  partridge — and  snipe — well,  you  can  get  as 
much  snipe  as  you  like." 

The  entrance  of  the  women  stopped  the  conversa- 
tion at  this  point,  and  a  strapping  maid  having  brought 


i;6  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

in  the  tea-pot,  they  all  sat  down  to  tea,  and  Philip's 
name  came  up. 

"You  know  Mr.  Barrimore  who  lives  in  our  bun- 
galow?" said  Mrs.  Pickett. 

"Of  course  they  do,  mother,"  put  in  Minnie. 
"Why,  you've  seen  him  go  in  and  out  there  yourself." 

"I  said  they  knew  him,  didn't  I?"  asked  Mrs. 
Pickett.  "You  are  a  bit  too  sharp,  Minnie.  Pass 
the  cream  to  Mrs.  Le  Breton." 

"He's  a  bit  stand-offish,"  went  on  Mrs.  Pickett. 
"He  often  comes  up  past  our  farm,  but  he  doesn't 
look  in.  He  hasn't  been  here  since  his  stable  was 
finished.  He  talks  to  Pickett  now  and  again  over  the 
gate." 

"Oh,  he's  right  enough!"  interrupted  the  farmer. 
"He's  taken  up  with  his  young  lady.  He'll  be  get- 
ting married  one  of  these  days,  and  then  he'll  soon 
find  eyes  for  other  people.  Bless  you!  they're  all  the 
same  when  they  are  courting." 

"Is  he  really  engaged?"  inquired  Alvin. 

"Well,  sir,  don't  it  look  like  it?  You  have  win- 
dows, and  likewise  eyes.  Miss  Lane's  always  coming 
over  to  the  bungalow  on  that  cycle  of  hers." 

"Which  to  me  don't  seem  right  and  proper  for  a 
young  lady  to  do,"  put  in  Mrs.  Pickett.  "I  wonder 
at  Colonel  Lane  allowing  it.  If  it  was  my  Minnie, 
she'd  hear  about  it!  Why,  it's  the  talk  of  Hastings; 
my  friend  Mrs.  Hannington  says  so.  Miss  Lane  is 
staying  at  Hawk's  Nest  now,  while  her  father's 
gadding  off  somewhere.  There  is  talk  that  he  has 
got  another  establishment  near  London.  Of  course, 
that  being  so,  he  wouldn't  look  after  his  daughter 
properly,  not  having  proper  notions  of  right  and 
wrong." 

"Mother!"  broke  out  Pickett,  pausing  in  the  act 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  177 

of  carving  a  chicken.  "I  wonder  at  your  repeating 
tales  like  that!  Every  time  Mrs.  Hannington  comes, 
there  is  some  new  yarn  to  somebody's  discredit.  I 
can't  bear  the  sight  of  her!" 

Eweretta  ate  her  chicken,  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 
She  did  not  like  this  type  of  conversation.  Mrs.  Le 
Breton,  too,  looked  uncomfortable. 

Alvin,  who  noted  this,  began  hastily  to  introduce 
a  new  topic.  Naturally  the  topic  was  Canada,  as  he 
knew  little  about  anything  else.  "There  will  be 
blizzards  in  Canada  now,"  he  began.  "You  wouldn't 
think  it,  that  a  great  fire  could  rage  there  at  this 
time  of  the  year?  Yet  I  remember  one  when  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Saskatoon.  It  was  a  line  of  fire  six 
miles  long,  and  the  flames  were  seven  feet  high.  It 
could  be  seen  forty  miles  away;  and  that  was  in 
October." 

Farmer  Pickett  smiled  discreetly.  He  would  not 
contradict  his  guest,  but  he  evidently  believed  him  to 
be  pulling  the  long  bow. 

"How  perfectly  awful !"  exclaimed  Minnie,  who  did 
believe  the  tale. 

"It  was  a  grand  sight,"  said  Alvin. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  shivered.  She  had  seen  such 
"grand  sights"  unpleasantly  near. 

Alvin  pointed  to  the  sleeping  dogs.  "Now  I  dare- 
say you  think  your  dogs  good  herders,"  he  said;  "but 
I  had  a  pony  that  would  beat  them  hollow." 

"Indeed!"  said  Pickett,  with  the  same  incredulous 
smile. 

"You  should  have  seen  her  at  work,"  went  on  Alvin, 
"jumping  over  the  badger  and  gopher  holes  and 
mounds.  I  had  only  to  sit  tight,  and  she  would  collect 
the  strayed  oxen  better  than  any  dog.  She  knew  all 
their  names  as  well  as  I  did." 


178  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Perhaps  she  could  talk?"  suggested  Pickett,  wink- 
ing at  the  company  generally. 

Alvin  was  annoyed,  and  said  no  more  for  some  time, 
so  Mrs.  Pickett  kept  the  ball  rolling. 

"I  think  Canada  would  be  a  bit  too  lively  for  me," 
she  said. 

"Most  people  don't  think  it  lively,"  put  in  Mrs.  Le 
Breton. 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  prairie,  mother,"  said 
Eweretta,  who  had  not  before  spoken.  "The  towns 
are  quite  different.  Montreal  is  gay  enough." 

"Do  you  keep  chickens?"  asked  Mrs.  Pickett. 

"At  Montreal?"  demanded  Eweretta. 

"No,  at  the  White  House,"  laughed  Mrs.  Pickett 
"You  ought  to,  for  you  have  plenty  of  room." 

"We  have  none  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Le  Breton. 

"We  could  give  you  a  bit  of  a  start  with  some," 
Pickett  joined  in.  "Favorolles  are  good  all-round 
fowls,  and  we  could  well  spare  some.  What  do  you 
keep  in  the  little  wood,  Mr.  Alvin?" 

The  question  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  that 
Alvin  could  not  at  first  reply. 

At  last  he  stammered  out : 

"Nothing — as  yet." 

"You're  not  offended  at  my  asking,  are  you?"  de- 
manded the  farmer.  "No  offence  meant,  you  know; 
only  seeing  that  the  wood  is  wired  in  so  finely,  and 
you  have  built  a  high  wall  round  something  in  the 
clearing,  I  wondered — " 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  caught  Pickett's  eye  and  slightly 
shook  her  head. 

A  silence  fell  on  the  company,  and  even  when  at 
last  a  few  remarks  were  exchanged,  all  felt  a  sense 
of  strain,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  tea  was  over  and 
the  two  men  sat  by  the  fire  to  smoke. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  179 

Then  it  was  that  Minnie  rather  shyly  offered  to 
show  Miss  Le  Breton  round  the  rambling  old  house. 
There  was  not  a  great  deal  to  show,  but  Eweretta  was 
genuinely  interested,  because  she  had  never  seen  any- 
thing of  the  sort  before;  also,  the  girls  found  plenty 
to  say  to  each  other  when  once  the  ice  was  broken. 

Minnie  was  not  reserved,  nor  did  she  perceive  that 
Eweretta  was  so. 

It  was  in  the  apple-room,  where  the  winter  fruit 
was  stored,  that  Minnie  confided  to  Eweretta  that  she 
had  a  sweetheart. 

"He's  a  clerk  in  the  Gasworks,"  she  explained, 
"and  he  often  comes  over,  and  we  meet  in  the  rick- 
yard;  but  I  daren't  let  father  and  mother  know, 
because  they  say  I  shan't  have  a  young  man  till  I'm 
turned  twenty-one.  Harry — his  name  is  Henry 
Johnson — and  I  met  in  Hollington  Wood  in  the  spring. 
I  had  gone  over  to  the  churchyard  to  put  some  flowers 
on  grandmother's  grave,  and  he  came  in  from  the 
wood,  and  we  got  talking,  and  he  walked  with  me  to 
the  tram.  That  was  the  beginning.  He  is  so  nice, 
and  quiet,  and  respectable.  I  am  sure  father  and 
mother  couldn't  dislike  him.  But,  you  see,  they  are 
so  determined  I  shall  turn  twenty-one  before  I  am 
engaged.  We  aren't  really  engaged,  Miss  Le  Breton, 
you  know,  but  we  both  know  we  shall  be.  It's  a  long 
time  to  wait,  for  I  am  only  nineteen." 

"It  is  best  to  wait  a  long  time,"  said  Eweretta. 
"Men  change  so." 

Minnie  looked  at  her  companion  with  incredulous 
round  eyes. 

"Some  men,  perhaps,"  she  said,  as  if  grudgingly 
conceding  something.  "But  not  men  who  really  and 
truly  love,"  she  added. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Eweretta,  "even  those  who  love 


i8o  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

really  and  truly  fall  out  of  love  sometimes.  They 
don't  mean  to  do  it.  It  is  not  a  crime.  No  one  ought 
to  blame  them  for  it.  But  I  think  love  ought  to  be 
well  tested  before  marriage.  If  the  failing  of  love 
comes  before  marriage  it  is  only  very  sad.  If  it  comes 
after  marriage,  then  it  is  tragic." 

Minnie  looked  at  the  speaker  bewildered.  To  her 
love,  once  felt,  was  a  thing  eternal.  At  last,  after  a 
few  moments  of  rapid  thought,  an  explanation  of  the 
strange  words  she  had  just  heard  came  to  her,  and  she 
said  with  a  sympathetic  ring  in  her  voice : 

"Have  you  lost  a  lover,  Miss  Le  Breton?  If  so,  I 
am — oh!  so  sorry!" 

Eweretta  smiled  an  April  smile,  and  gently  laying 
her  hand  on  Minnie's  said:  "Yes,  but  don't  be  sorry. 
I  am  glad,  for  it  has  saved  me  much  worse  pain." 

There  were  tears  in  Minnie's  bright  eyes  as  she  re- 
peated :  "Oh,  but  I  am  so  sorry !" 

The  friendship  of  these  two  girls  dated  from  this 
little  scene  in  the  apple-room. 

Eweretta  genuinely  liked  Minnie,  and  Minnie,  with 
a  young  girl's  fresh  enthusiasm,  adored  Miss  Le 
Breton. 

After  the  guests  had  departed  that  afternoon, 
Minnie  said  to  her  mother :  "I  know  what  made  Miss 
Le  Breton  'queer  in  her  head'  for  a  time.  She  had  an 
unfortunate  love  affair,  but  you  must  not  mention  it." 

"Drat  love  affairs!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pickett. 
"Don't  you  get  having  any  till  you  are  old  enough  to 
know  what  you  are  about !" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A    HALF-CONFIDENCE 

ABOUT  this  time  Annie  Barrimore  began  to  be  anxious 
about  the  health  of  Phyllis.  Phyllis  was  piqued; 
she  lost  her  appetite;  moreover,  she  had  grown  dis- 
tinctly snappish,  when  she  chose  to  talk  at  all.  She 
was  more  often  mopish. 

Dan  had  departed  for  the  vine-clad  cottage  in  Dul- 
wich  Village.  Colonel  Lane  still  remained  with  his 
friend,  who  had  "picked  up"  a  little. 

After  vain  and  abortive  questionings  of  Phyllis, 
Mrs.  Barrimore  wrote  a  rather  distressed  letter  to  the 
girl's  father,  to  which  she  received  a  characteristic 
reply : 

"Mv  DEAR  FRIEND,, — 

"  Do  not  worry  about  Phyllis's  health.  All 
you  see  is  nothing  physical.  The  symptoms  are  those 
of  another  love  affair.  Who  is  the  man  this  time? 
Surely  not  Mr.  Webster?" 

To  which  Mrs.  Barrimore  replied: 

"No,  it  is  certainly  not  Dan.  Phyllis  treated  him 
with  marked  coldness.  It  cannot  be  anyone  new 
either,  for  she  sees  no  one  but  Philip,  and  you  know 
that  anything  in  that  quarter  is  quite  out  of  the 
question.  It  is  possible  that  she  is  fretting  anew  for 
Captain  Arbuthnot.  I  wish  she  would  trust  me!  I 
am  very,  very  fond  of  her." 

181 


182  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

To  this  Colonel  Lane  replied  by  reiterating  his 
former  opinion. 

"I  know  her  better  than  you  do,  my  dear  friend," 
he  wrote.  "She  has  a  new  fancy.  She  always  be- 
haves the  same  when  she  has  a  new  fancy!  Do  not 
fear  for  her  health.  That  is  all  right.  But  I  think 
(if  I  may  so  far  burden  you,  and  I  know  I  may!) 
that  you  should  accompany  her  on  her  'supposed' 
visits  to  Philip." 

This  last  letter  worried  Mrs.  Barrimore  not  a  little. 
She  hated  the  suggestion  of  "spying"  which  the 
Colonel's  request  involved.  Yet  she  remembered 
having  told  Phyllis  (on  one  of  those  summer  after- 
noons when  there  was  a  garden-party  at  Hawk's  Nest) 
that  she  ought  not  to  visit  Philip  alone. 

Phyllis  had  been  wilful.  She  had  had  her  way; 
but  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  never  approved  of  the  visits 
to  the  bungalow.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  in 
ignorance  of  the  frequency  of  these  visits.  She  fully 
agreed  with  Colonel  Lane's  desire  that  she  should 
accompany  the  girl. 

But  it  was  actually  repellent  to  this  woman  to 
"spy"  or  do  anything  that  was  not  absolutely  above- 
board. 

For  this  reason,  after  a  bewildering  half-hour  of 
racking  thought,  which  left  her  head  aching,  she  went 
in  search  of  Phyllis  to  "have  it  out." 

Phyllis  was  certainly  not  gone  out,  for  rain  had 
been  pouring  down  unceasingly  since  breakfast.  But 
though  Mrs.  Barrimore  visited  the  drawing-room,  the 
dining-room,  and  finally  the  smoking-room  (incident- 
ally waking  up  Uncle  Robert,  who  had  gone  to  sleep 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  183 

over  the  fire — and  the  Times},  she  failed  to  discover 
the  girl.  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  passed  Phyllis's  bed- 
room as  she  had  come  downstairs,  and  had  seen 
through  the  open  door  that  the  room  was  empty. 

Suddenly  she  recalled  the  fact  that  when  last  they 
had  been  together  in  Robertson  Street,  Phyllis  had 
said:  "Do  you  mind  if  while  you  go  into  Plummer's, 
I  run  to  that  art  shop  in  Wellington  Place  to  get  a 
few  tubes  of  oil  colors?" 

She  had  meant  to  ask  Phyllis  afterwards  what  she 
wanted  the  colors  for,  but  had  forgotten  it.  She 
now  thought  that  possibly  Phyllis  had  been  inspired 
by  Dan's  painting  to  try  her  hand  in  secret,  so  she 
went  up  the  flight  of  steep  stairs  that  led  to  the  big 
attic,  which  Uncle  Robert  had  converted  into  a 
studio. 

There,  sure  enough,  she  found  the  forlorn  Phyllis, 
seated  on  Dan's  stool,  at  Dan's  easel,  producing  some- 
thing on  canvas,  which  brought  a  smile  of  amusement 
to  Mrs.  Barrimore's  face,  which  she  quickly  hid  for 
fear  of  hurting  the  amateur  artist's  feelings. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  dear," 
began  Mrs.  Barrimore  brightly.  "I  had  no  idea  you 
had  taken  up  painting." 

"One  must  do  something,"  said  Phyllis  petulantly, 
throwing  down  her  brushes.  "This  weather  is  just 
detestable — rain — rain — rain — and  everything's  so 
miserable!  Oh,  forgive  me,  dear  Mrs.  Barrimore! 
How  horrid  I  am!  and  how  ungrateful  after  all  your 
kindness  to  talk  so!" 

Phyllis  had  caught  sight  of  the  pained  look  her  first 
words  had  brought  up  on  the  gentle  face  of  her  friend 
and  hostess,  and  had  felt  ashamed  and  sorry  in  a 
moment. 

Mrs.  Barrimore's  arms  were  protectingly  round  the 


1 84  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

wilful  girl  before  half  the  apology  had  been  uttered. 

This  was  her  dearest  friend's  only  child. 

"Phyllis  darling,"  the  elder  woman  said,  affection 
shining  in  her  eyes,  "tell  me  what  is  the  matter.  You 
have  no  mother,  can't  you  trust  me?  I  have  been  so 
troubled  about  you,  and  I  am  going  to  be  quite  frank 
and  above-board  with  you.  I  have  written  to  your 
father  to  say  I  don't  think  you  are  well,  and  he — " 

"What  does  dad  say?"  demanded  Phyllis,  drawing 
her  head  back  from  the  friendly  bosom,  to  gaze  into 
the  elder  woman's  eyes. 

"He  thinks  you  have  again  fallen  in  love." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  felt  a  tremor  run  through  the  girl's 
frame  before  she  freed  herself,  and  stood  defiant, 
with  parted  lips  through  which  the  breath  came 
quickly. 

"And  if  I  have!"  the  girl  cried,  "is  it  a  crime? 
Can  anyone  help  loving?  But  father  need  not 
trouble  himself.  I  can  never  marry  the  man  I  love. 
I  cannot  even  let  him  know  I  love  him.  I  could 
not  in  any  case.  He  does  not  love  me,  and  his  heart 
is  another's,  and  always  will  be.  Oh,  I  know  that 
quite  well.  At  least,  I  can  be  allowed  to  grieve  in 
peace !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  deeply  concerned.  She  did  not 
ask  who  the  man  was;  she  thought  she  knew,  and  to 
her  the  love  did  not  seem  so  altogether  hopeless. 

"My  dear,  take  courage,"  she  said.  "He  may  come 
to  love  you  yet." 

Tears  gushed  from  the  girl's  eyes  and  fell  unchecked. 

"Oh,  no!  and  if  he  did,  that  would  be  worse  than 
anything,  for  we  could  never  marry !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore,  thinking  of  Philip,  believed  that 
Phyllis  thought  that  loyalty  to  Eweretta  would  cause 
him  to  remain  unmarried. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  185 

It  might  be,  after  all,  that  Uncle  Robert  had  been 
right  when  he  had  said  that  Philip  had  got  over  the 
loss  of  Eweretta.  The  mother  devoutly  hoped  he  had, 
or  would  as  time  went  on,  and  since  she  could  not 
marry  the  father,  she  would  be  glad — yes,  glad — that 
Phyllis  should  become  her  daughter-in-law. 

She  wished  she  could  sound  Philip,  but  he  was  so 
unapproachable.  There  were  tears  in  her  own  eyes 
as  she  again  told  Phyllis  to  hope  and  not  despair. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  hope  for,"  said  Phyllis.  "I 
have  been  a  little  fool,  and  now  I  am  paying  for  it, 
and  I  shall  go  on  paying  for  it!  Father  always  said 
I  didn't  know  my  own  mind,  but  I  do  now — yes,  I 
do!  Father  said  he  wouldn't  let  me  be  engaged  to 
Captain  Arbuthnot  till  I  had  done  sowing  my 
wild  oats.  Fancy  that!  sowing  wild  oats! — as  if 
girls  ever  did!  and  that  brought  all  the  trouble. 
If  he  had  let  me  be  engaged,  then  all  this  trouble 
would  have  been  saved,  for  we  should  have  soon 
quarrelled,  and  parted." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  could  make  nothing  of  this  amazing 
statement.  She  put  it  down  to  the  girl's  excited  state 
— wild  meaningless  words  these  must  be ! 

"Well,  my  dear,"  she  said  quietly,  "if  we  do  what 
we  believe  to  be  right,  all  will  be  well  with  us.  It  is 
doing  things  we  know  to  be  wrong  that  brings  all  the 
real  trouble." 

After  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  gone  Phyllis  nibbled  the 
end  of  her  paint  brush,  an  angry  frown  spoiling  her 
piquant  face. 

"I  believe,"  she  said  to  herself  with  comical  frank- 
ness, "that  if  Charlie  were  in  love  with  someone  else, 
and  I  hadn't  got  him,  I  should  want  him." 

Then  her  eyes  fell  on  the  old  studio  coat  which  Dan 
had  omitted  to  pack  with  the  rest  of  his  belongings, 


186  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

and  her  eyes  filled  with  resentful  tears.  How  Dan 
worshipped  the  girl  he  called  his  "Madonna!"  What 
a  tender  light  came  into  his  blue  eyes  at  the  mere  men- 
tion of  her  name ! 

Phyllis  was  horribly  jealous,  and  horribly  sorry  for 
herself. 

She  remembered  with  annoyance  that  Miss  Le 
Breton  looked  superb  on  a  horse.  She  had  one  now, 
and  rode  with  her  uncle.  Everyone  was  talking  about 
that  girl's  splendid  horsemanship — just  as  if  all  Can- 
adian girls  didn't  ride  well ! 

And  she,  Phyllis,  had  only  a  bicycle ! 

Girls  never  looked  particularly  well  on  bicycles — 
and  they  did  on  horses. 

But  Dan  hadn't  seen  Miss  Le  Breton  on  horseback. 
That  was  some  comfort.  He  was  gone  away,  too; 
that  was  another  comfort. 

Was  it  a  comfort? 

Didn't  she  miss  him  every  moment  of  the  day? 

All  at  once  a  sense  of  her  own  wickedness  in  think- 
ing of  Dan  covered  her  with  shame.  She  was  Charlie's 
wife,  and  she  had  no  right  to  think  of  anyone  but 
Charlie.  She  remembered  how  madly  in  love  she  had 
been  with  Charlie — poor  Charlie!  risking  his  life  in 
that  horrid  native  rising!  If  Charlie  knew  how  fickle 
she  had  been,  though  it  had  only  been  in  thought, 
would  he  cease  to  love  her?  She  was  not  at  all  sure 
that  she  wanted  Charlie  to  cease  to  love  her.  She 
was,  on  the  whole,  glad  that  Philip  had  insisted  on  her 
writing  affectionately  to  her  husband. 

All  at  once  Phyllis  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical 
laughter. 

"I  believe  dad  is  right,"  she  told  herself.  "I  don't 
know  my  own  mind!  But  where — where  shall  I 
land?" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  187 

"Hallo!"  came  in  the  stentorian  voice  of  Mr. 
Burns,  from  the  bottom  of  the  staircase.  "What's 
the  joke?" 

He  mounted  the  stairs  heavily  and  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  studio. 

"What's  the  joke?"  he  repeated. 

"Look  at  my  picture,  Mr.  Burns !"  cried  Phyllis  with 
renewed  laughter.  "That  chicken  I  have  painted 
couldn't  walk  in  at  the  cottage  door  if  he  tried!  See! 
he  is  close  to  the  cottage  and  his  head  is  level  with  the 
bedroom  window!" 

Uncle  Robert  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  looked  at 
the  work  of  art  in  question. 

"It  must  be  an  antediluvian  cock,"  he  decided. 
"Phyllis,  I  fear  your  talent  does  not  lie  in  the  direc- 
tion of  drawing." 

"It  lies  in  the  direction  of  my  making  a  fool  of  my- 
self," she  replied. 

"Ah,  well,  little  Phyll!"  retorted  Uncle  Robert, 
smiling.  "Horace  says:  'Dulce  est  desipere  in  loco' 
which  being  interpreted,  is,  'It  is  sweet  to  play  the 
fool  now  and  then,  in  the  place  for  so  doing.'  But 
draw  the  line  at  hurting,  little  Phyll — either  others  or 
yourself.  Then  it  does  not  much  matter." 

"Mr.  Burns,  I  have  been  hurting  you  and  dear  Mrs. 
Barrimore  these  last  days.  I  have  been  a  disagree- 
able pig." 

"Look  here!"  broke  out  Uncle  Robert.  "You  are 
a  bit  moped.  What  do  you  say  to  the  Hippodrome? 
Annie  has  a  crusty  old  maid  who  is  coming  to  spend 
the  evening  here.  Supposing  you  and  I  go  off  on  our 
own!  We  can  get  an  early  dinner,  just  for  us  two, 
and  then  be  off  before  Miss  Nightingale  appears. 
Nightingale,  indeed !  She  has  a  voice  like  a  raven !" 

Phyllis  laughed  naturally  now.     She  was  delighted 


188  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

to  go  out  with  Mr.  Burns,  who  always  gave  her  a  good 
time. 

"How  lovely!"  she  cried,  pulling  off  a  pinafore, 
with  which  she  had  tried  to  get  a  professional  ap- 
pearance, and  flinging  her  picture  in  a  corner.  "But 
look  at  the  weather!" 

"What  does  that  matter!"  said  Uncle  Robert. 
"I  shall  order  a  cab.  What  says  the  proverb:  'For 
the  morning  rain  leave  not  your  journey.'  I  think  it 
will  clear  up,  but,  anyway,  get  your  bib  and  tucker 
ready.  I'll  go  and  ask  Annie  to  arrange  our  early 
dinner." 

"How  good — how  very  good  they  all  are  to  me!" 
Phyllis  told  herself  when  Mr.  Burns  had  departed  on 
his  errand.  "And  what  a  horrid  little  wretch  I  am !" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    PROBLEM    OF    EWERETTA^S    MIND 

NOTHING  had  happened  during  those  days  when  Dpi 
Webster  had  made  the  two  pictures  of  Eweretta- — 
that  is,  nothing  had  happened  that  either  the  painter 
or  the  model  could  single  out  and  say  that  it  was  im- 
portant. Yet,  to  both  of  them  these  days  stood  out 
from  the  rest  of  their  lives.  They  were  days  neither 
would  ever  forget. 

Their  talk  had  been  commonplace,  and  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  had  always  been  present  at  the  sittings. 

Sometimes  their  eyes  had  met — met  and  rested  on 
each  other.  That  was  all. 

Eweretta's  eyes,  being  a  woman's,  had  not  failed 
to  read  the  worship  in  the  eyes  of  the  man. 

It  was  Dan's  which  had  failed  to  read  the  light  of 
newly-awakened  pleasure  in  those  of  his  model. 

Perhaps  Eweretta's  eyes  had  so  long  been  sad  that 
even  in  happiness  there  was  pathos  in  them. 

Anyway,  Dan  had  said  good-bye  to  his  Madonna 
without  the  slightest  knowledge  that  he  had  come  as 
a  joy  into  her  life,  and  that  his  going — mattered. 

He  had  stumbled  boyishly  in  the  last  words  he  had 
spoken  to  her,  holding  her  hand  awkwardly.  He  re- 
called his  lame  utterance  afterwards  with  humiliation 
and  savage  regret. 

He  had  wanted  to  say  something  that  she  would 
remember,  something  that  should  tell  her  that  one 
fortnight  of  his  life  had  been  worth  all  the  rest  put 

189 


190  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

together — that  her  face  which  he  had  put  on  canvas 
was  even  more  indelibly  fixed  on  his  heart.  He  had 
not  wanted  to  imply  love  by  his  words,  but  homage. 
He  wanted  her  to  know  that  she  was  indeed  his 
Madonna — a  thing  holy.  And  all  he  had  said  was  "I 
am  sorry  it  is  all  over!" 

Eweretta  had  met  his  gaze  frankly,  with  that 
mystic  smile  on  her  lips  which  he  loved,  and  she  had 
only  said  "Good-bye." 

But  she  had  watched  the  stalwart  figure  pass  along 
the  white  road  past  the  bungalow  with  that  mystic 
smile  still  on  her  lips,  and  a  strange  happiness  had 
possessed  her. 

Light  had  somehow  invaded  the  grayness  which  so 
long  had  shrouded  her  existence. 

She  asked  herself  no  questions  as  to  the  future. 
She  lived  now  in  the  moment.  She  knew  herself  once 
more  beloved,  and  to  every  woman  that  is  joy. 

Happiness  will  not  bear  dissection  and  analysis. 
Eweretta  attempted  neither. 

She  had  seen  the  light  of  dawn  in  the  East,  and  she 
watched  for  the  sun  to  rise. 

She  remembered  that  she  was  young. 

The  picture  Dan  had  made  of  her  in  her  ordinary 
white  gown  (he  had  asked  for  this  particular  gown 
because  of  the  soft  folds  with  which  it  clung  to  her 
slim  figure),  now  hung  in  the  dining-room. 

Eweretta,  standing  alone  before  it,  looked  at  her 
other  self.  She  noted  the  deep,  rich  red  of  the  rose 
pinned  at  the  bosom,  where  two  soft  folds  of  muslin 
crossed  each  other — the  only  ornament.  She  noted 
how  Dan  had  caught  that  blue  shimmer  in  the  black 
of  her  hair,  where  it  slightly  waved  away  from  her 
temples. 

She  saw,  too,  that  the  face  was  different  from  the 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  191 

old  Eweretta's,  it  held  something  more  which  she 
could  not  define. 

The  difference  was  that  the  old,  glad  Eweretta  had 
never  suffered.  The  merry  look  was  gone,  and  in  its 
place  was  a  marvellous  sweetness. 

Eweretta  saw  that  she  was  indeed  very  beautiful. 
She  saw  it  in  this  picture  as  she  had  never  seen  it  in 
her  mirror. 

But  it  was  the  little  picture — the  Madonna — that  she 
liked  best. 

Dan  had  brought  the  robe  she  wore  for  this  picture. 
It  was  of  blue — a  lovely  blue  of  a  summer  sky.  The 
nun-like  head-dress,  Dan's  own  deft  hands  had 
arranged.  She  recalled  that  his  touch  had  made  her 
tremble,  and  that  she  had  been  angry  with  herself  for 
betraying  emotion.  But  she  had  not  really  betrayed 
herself  at  all.  The  slight  tremor  had  passed  un- 
noticed by  Dan,  because  he  was  so  much  taken  up  with 
anxiety  to  hide  his  own  emotion  at  such  close  proximity 
to  his  divinity. 

Eweretta  had  uttered  solemn  warnings  to  Minnie 
Pickett  in  the  apple-room.  But  she  uttered  no  warn- 
ings to  herself. 

She  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  undefined  emotions, 
and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and  Thomas  Alvin  were  sur- 
prised and  delighted  at  the  change  in  her.  She  was 
clearly  happy,  happy  in  spite  of  all  she  had  gone 
through. 

She  still  looked  from  her  window  at  night,  and 
saw  Philip's  light  burning,  but  now  she  looked  without 
emotion. 

Another  Philip,  and  another  Eweretta,  had  once 
loved — a  long,  long  time  ago,  but  they  were  both 
dead. 

Alvin's  idea  of  buying  a  horse  for  her  to  ride  had 


192  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

delighted  Eweretta.  She  had  ridden  much  in  the 
prairie  before  she  had  gone  with  her  father  to 
Montreal.  She  had  often  ridden  alone  to  a  town 
many  miles  distant  to  get  the  mail  and  post  letters. 
On  these  occasions  she  had  carried  a  revolver,  for 
wolves  were  plentiful. 

Riding  here  at  Hastings  would  be  less  exciting,  but 
very,  very  delightful. 

The  rides  soon  put  color  into  her  cheeks,  and  she 
lost  that  fragile  look  which  had  worried  Alvin. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  Dan's  departure, 
a  box  of  lovely  hot-house  flowers  arrived  for  her,  and 
she  knew  well  who  was  the  sender. 

The  dawn  she  had  seen  in  the  East  was  growing 
rosy  red. 

Alvin  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  discussed  this  box  of 
flowers  in  secret. 

The  woman  was  glad,  but  Alvin,  who  had  still 
hopes  of  reuniting  the  old  lovers — though  those  hopes 
had  been  considerably  shaken — was  not  so  pleased. 
He  liked  Dan — who  did  not? — but  he  wanted  to 
be  sure,  very  sure  indeed,  that  Eweretta's  love  for 
Philip  was  reaHy  dead  before  he  encouraged  another 
suitor. 

Alvin  was  very  desirous  of  seeing  Eweretta  happily 
married.  He  did  not  believe  that  Mrs.  Le  Breton 
would  be  a  long  liver.  He  himself  might  "snuff  out" 
at  any  moment.  True,  he  was  hale  and  hearty,  as 
prairie  products  are  wont  to  be;  but  the  superstition 
which  had  formed  so  much  and  marred  so  much  of 
his  life  clung  to  him.  "The  Thirteenth  Man,"  to 
whom  ill-luck  had  ever  clung,  would  never  make 
old  bones.  Alvin  was  convinced  that  his  end  would 
be  sudden  and  tragic.  He  wanted  to  make  sure  of 
Eweretta's  future. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  193 

One  thing  he  had  already  done  since  his  promise 
to  the  girl  that  her  identity  should  not  be  revealed. 
He  had  made  a  will  leaving  everything  to  Aimee  Le 
Breton  (which  was  only  giving  back  to  Eweretta  what 
was  her  own). 

Thomas  Alvin,  in  spite  of  his  being  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  in  a  good  monetary  position,  was  far  from 
happy.  Exteriorly  he  appeared  cheerful,  but  there 
were  times  of  deep  depression,  when  he  always  retired 
to  the  enclosed  wood.  He  never  drank  now.  In 
fact,  he  had  only  for  a  little  time  given  way  to  drink, 
and  that  had  been  at  the  White  House.  Drink  is  not 
a  Canadian  vice. 

His  one  idea,  when  he  had  treacherously  possessed 
himself  of  Eweretta's  fortune,  had  been  to  get  to 
England  and  live  as  a  "gentleman."  Now  that  he 
was  established  in  a  good  house,  well-furnished,  he 
pined  for  the  free  life  of  the  prairie.  Often  as  he  lay 
in  his  comfortable  bed,  he  would  think  with  longing 
of  the  "shake-down"  in  a  "shack"  where  he  had 
rolled  himself  in  a  rug  with  a  saddle  for  a  pillow. 

There  were  times  when  a  wild  longing  to  return  to 
the  old  life  possessed  him.  Then  he  would  retire  to 
the  enclosed  wood  to  fight  his  battle  in  solitude. 

What  lay  within  the  high  wall  he  had  built  round 
the  clearing  no  one  knew,  and  no  one  of  his  household 
asked. 

If  Mrs.  Le  Breton  and  Eweretta  guessed  they  kept 
their  knowledge  to  themselves,  not  speaking  of  it  even 
to  each  other. 

Nothing  took  Alvin  so  completely  out  of  himself 
as  riding  with  Eweretta. 

They  went  long  distances,  spending  the  whole  day 
sometimes,  and  lunching  at  an  inn,  while  the  horses 
rested. 


194  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

They  often  went  to  Winchelsea  and  to  Rye,  because 
Eweretta  had  shown  herself  so  charmed  with  these 
old-world  places  on  their  first  visit. 

It  was  when  Alvin  and  Eweretta  were  returning 
from  one  of  these  expeditions  that  Alvin  asked  the 
girl  what  she  had  written  to  Dan  in  reply  to  the  gift 
of  flowers. 

"I  did  not  write  myself.  I  dictated  to  'mother,' 
for  I  thought  that  Dan  might  chance  to  show  the 
letter  to  Philip,  and  he  would  of  course  recognize  my 
handwriting.  I  thanked  him  nicely — that  was  all." 

"Dan !"  She  had  not  said  Mr.  Webster.  That  was 
what  Alvin  noted. 

She  herself  had  spoken  the  name  quite  unconscious- 
ly. She  always  thought  of  him  as  Dan. 

"Of  course,"  the  girl  went  on,  reining  in  her  horse 
a  little  that  they  might  talk  more  easily,  "of  course, 
Philip  would  only  think  it  an  extraordinary  incident 
that  Aimee  and  I  should  write  so  much  alike,  but  it 
might  put  him  on  the  track  of  the — "  she  hesitated 
a  second,  then  added — "fraud.  And  now,  uncle, 
I  would  not  for  anything  in  the  world  have  Philip 
know  I  am  alive.  Let  him  marry  that  little  girl — 
Miss  Lane — if  he  will.  But  I  doubt  if  he  will.  I 
think  his  ambition  is  now  more  than  anything  to 
him,  and  that  he  will  wish  to  marry  a  society  woman, 
so  that  he  can  entertain  and  bring  himself  well  to  the 
front." 

There  was  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  her  tone  as  she 
spoke. 

"But  if  he  should  come  to  wish  to  marry  you?"  he 
hazarded. 

"I  would  not  marry  him  if  he  were  the  only  maa 
in  the  world,"  she  said. 

At  the  time  she  believed  what  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
"A  DANIEL  INDEED!" 

DAN  WEBSTER  had  never  found  Vine  Cottage,  Dul- 
wich,  quite  so  depressing  as  after  he  returned  there  from 
his  last  visit  to  Hastings.  He  had  not  gone  straight 
home,  but  had  made  a  short  stay  in  London  on  his  way. 

The  house  was  as  usual,  clean,  and  oh!  most  terri- 
bly tidy! 

"A  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its 
place,"  ought  to  have  been  put  up  as  a  motto  over  the 
front  door,  Dan  often  remarked. 

Mrs.  Webster,  in  plain  black  cashmere  gown,  a 
white  ice-wool  shawl,  and  an  immaculate  widow's  cap, 
sat  in  her  accustomed  corner  in  the  fireplace, 
knitting  socks.  Miss  Linkin,  her  elder  sister,  sat  bolt 
upright  near  the  window,  sewing.  The  two  women 
were  as  much  in  their  places  as  the  furniture,  Dan  al- 
ways said. 

The  yellow  and  white  cat,  too,  was  exactly  in  its 
own  place  on  the  hearthrug,  opposite  the  middle  orna- 
ment of  the  fender. 

The  Church  Times  lay  upon  a  small  table  near  Mrs. 
Webster's  elbow,  together  with  the  familiar  big  smell- 
ing bottle  which  had  a  collection  of  round  balls  in  it 
in  some  mysterious  liquid. 

The  family  at  Vine  Cottage  used  the  same  room  to 
eat  in  and  sit  in.  It  was  larger  than  the  small  drawing- 
room  behind,  which  only  commanded  a  view  of  the 
vegetable  garden  and  Dan's  studio. 

195 


196  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

From  the  dining-room  there  was  a  view  of  the 
road,  which  Miss  Linkin  appreciated,  because  she 
elected  to  sit  by  the  window  in  the  afternoon.  Her 
mornings  were  consecrated  to  domestic  affairs.  Mrs. 
Webster,  in  her  capacity  of  invalid,  did  nothing  but 
sit  and  knit,  except  on  her  "better  days,"  when  she 
would  go  as  far  as  the  Dulwich  picture  gallery — -or 
if  it  were  a  Sunday,  to  church.  Isabel  usually  lent  her 
mother  an  arm  to  church,  and  Mrs.  Webster  never 
failed  to  remark  in  an  injured  voice:  "My  son  ought 
to  be  doing  this.  Never  make  a  mixed  marriage, 
Isabel;  it  is  so  inconvenient  to  have  your  children 
brought  up  in  different  religions.  I  did  think  that 
perhaps,  after  your  father  died,  Dan  would  change 
over  and  become  Protestant." 

And  Isabel  would  invariably  reply:  "I  don't 
see  that  the  Catholic  faith  is  any  worse  than  the 
Protestant;  moreover,  I  should  have  thought  less  of 
Dan  if  he  had  'changed  over.' ' 

It  was  twilight  when  Dan  reached  home,  but  the 
lamp  in  the  dining-room  had  not  yet  been  lit. 

Dan,  entering  at  the  small  wooden  gate,  saw  the 
familiar  face  of  Miss  Linkin  at  the  window.  He  had 
known  that  he  should  see  it,  just  as  certainly  as  he 
should  see  the  cottage. 

He  came  into  the  dining-room  in  his  usual  breezy 
fashion,  flinging  down  a  coat  and  a  bag,  and  kissing 
his  mother  affectionately  and  asking  after  her  health, 
then  giving  a  "duty"  kiss  to  Miss  Linkin,  who  ob- 
served that  his  moustache  was  all  wet  with  dew,  and 
afterwards,  with  the  air  of  protest,  removed  the  coat 
and  the  bag  to  the  passage  outside. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Lizzie!"  exclaimed  Dan  a  moment  too 
late,  "why  didn't  you  let  me  do  that?" 

"It  is  no  good  expecting  you  to  be  tidy,  Dan,"  she 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  197 

answered  with  a  sigh  which  bore  a  strong  resemblance 
to  a  groan. 

"I  am  an  untidy  beggar,"  acknowledged  Dan  cheer- 
fully, "I  am  incurable,  I  fear.  But,  oh,  I  am  so 
hungry !" 

"The  meal  will  be  ready  at  half-past  six,"  said  Miss 
Linkin,  with  an  air  of  finality. 

"But  if  the  dear  boy  is  hungry — "  put  in  Mrs. 
Webster  plaintively. 

"And  if  he  is,  he  will  make  a  raid  on  the  pantry, 
Aunt  Lizzie,"  Dan  said  with  a  comically  solemn 
air. 

This  was  not  to  be  endured.  Dan's  raids  upon  the 
pantry  were  not  unknown  experiences  in  the  term  of 
years  Miss  Linkin  had  officiated  in  the  capacity  of 
housekeeper. 

Miss  Linkin  instantly  "made  tracks,"  as  Dan  ex- 
pressed it,  for  the  kitchen,  where  a  middle-aged,  ex- 
pressionless servant  was  putting  plates  and  dishes  on 
the  rack  to  warm. 

"Mr.  Dan  would  like  supper  hurried  on,"  Miss 
Linkin  explained,  as  she  drew  a  jug  of  beer  from  a 
small  barrel  and  carried  it  herself  to  the  dining- 
room. 

"Good  for  you,  auntie!"  exclaimed  Dan,  reaching 
a  tumbler  out  of  the  sideboard.  "This  will  keep  me 
going  till  supper." 

"Isabel  is  dining  with  the  head  mistress  of  the  James 
Allen  School  to-night,  Dan,"  Mrs.  Webster  remarked 
as  Dan  set  down  his  tumbler.  "You  might  fetch  her 
home  if  you  are  not  too  tired.  You  know  the  house 
in  Rosendale  Road?" 

Yes,  of  course  Dan  knew  it,  and  he  would  be  de- 
lighted to  fetch  Isabel. 

Mary  Ann,  the  old  servant,  appeared  to  lay  the 


198  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

table,  and  Dan  went  out  to  his  studio,  where  he  lit 
the  gas  fire.  He  had  had  gas  laid  on,  though  lamps 
were  chiefly  used  at  Vine  Cottage. 

The  studio  was  constructed  of  wood,  which  was 
done  over  with  brown  Stockholm  tar,  and  there  was 
a  brick  recess  at  one  end  for  the  gas  stove,  and  a 
chimney  to  carry  off  fumes. 

This  studio  looked  inviting,  in  spite  of  its  untidi- 
ness. There  was  an  air  of  comfort  about  it,  though 
everything  in  it  was  shabby.  The  wicker  lounge- 
chairs  were  roomy  and  softly  cushioned.  The  big, 
faded  Eastern  rug  before  the  fire  was  still  a  charming 
bit  of  color,  as  were  the  leopard  skins.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  pictures  and  sketches.  Easels, 
quaint  old  tables,  and  a  book-case  completed  the 
furniture,  except  for  an  old  divan,  which  Dan  had 
picked  up  at  a  sale,  and  on  which  he  not  unfrequently 
passed  the  night. 

An  agreeable  (to  Dan)  odor  of  stale  tobacco  and 
turpentine  permeated  the  atmosphere. 

Dan  listened  for  the  cart  that  was  to  bring  his  re- 
maining luggage.  It  was  his  "Madonna"  he  was 
most  anxious  to  get,  and  unpack.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  make  a  copy  of  it  for  himself  before  send- 
ing the  original  to  the  church. 

He  would  have  a  free  fortnight  before  he  went 
to  a  friend's  studio  in  Chelsea  to  paint  the  portrait 
of  a  society  woman,  who  was  not  a  beauty,  but  who 
was  immensely  rich.  Stanley  Browne  always  allowed 
Dan  to  share  his  studio,  for  they  had  been  fellow- 
students  in  old  Paris  days  and  had  kept  up  a  close 
friendship. 

Miss  Linkin  put  her  head  in  at  the  door.  It  was 
a  remarkable  head.  The  face  was  long,  narrow,  and 
faded,  and  the  grey  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  199 

and  brushed  flat  on  the  temples,  where  it  suddenly 
became  two  stiff  corkscrew  curls.  These  two  curls 
on  either  side,  bobbed  up  and  down  when  she  nodded, 
which  she  did  very  often,  being  given  to  that  mode  of 
emphasis. 

The  pale  blue  eyes  were  still  bright  and  looked 
almost  out  of  place  in  the  wrinkled  setting.  The 
mob  cap,  stiff  and  ornamented  with  stiff  bows  of 
lavender  ribbon,  completed  the  picture  the  firelight 
revealed. 

"Your  luggage  is  come,  Dan,"  she  said;  "but  I  beg 
of  you  don't  begin  to  unpack  now,  I  have  arranged 
for  supper  to  be  earlier." 

Dan  rushed  out  to  receive  his  beloved  picture, 
and  having  seen  it  deposited  in  the  studio,  went  in  to 
supper. 

"A  Colonel  Lane  called  here  this  morning,  to  know 
if  you  were  back,"  said  Mrs.  Webster  over  supper. 
"Who  is  he?" 

"A  great  friend  of  the  Barrimores,"  said  Dan.  "He 
is  a  real  good  sort." 

"A  Catholic,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Miss  Linkin  disagree- 
ably. 

"No,  he  is  a  Protestant,"  answered  Dan. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  number  a  man  who  is 
a  Protestant  among  your  friends,"  said  his  aunt. 

Dan  laughed.  "Why,  really,  aunt,"  he  exclaimed, 
"nearly  all  my  friends  are  Protestants!  I  have  been 
painting  a  portrait,  however,  of  the  most  beautiful 
woman  the  world  holds,  and  she  is  a  Catholic." 

The  sisters  exchanged  alarmed  glances. 

If  Dan  had  fallen  in  love !  This  would  indeed  be  a 
blow !  It  had  been  bad  enough  that  he  had  taken  up 
painting  as  a  profession,  when  he  might  have  done 
something  that  would  have  given  them  all  a  decent 


200  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

income;  but  to  fall  in  love — possibly  to  marry! — that 
was  a  calamity  indeed! 

"Beauty  is  only  skin  deep,"  said  Miss  Linkin. 

"Oh,  but  such  a  skin!"  ejaculated  Dan  aggravat- 
ingly. 

Miss  Linkin  sniffed. 

Mrs.  Webster  sighed. 

"Such  eyes !"  went  on  Dan ;  "such  hair ! — and  above 
all,  such  a  divine  expression !" 

"Don't  you  be  taken  in  by  all  that,  Dan !"  broke  out 
Miss  Linkin.  "I  dare  say  she  is  a  designing  young 
minx !" 

"And  such  a  figure!"  went  on  Dan  teasingly. 

"Squeezed  in,  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Linkin.  "Men 
always  admire  thin  waists ;  why,  I  can't  think !" 

"Her  waist  isn't  thin,"  said  Dan. 

"What  is  her  name?"  demanded  Miss  Linkin. 

"Aimee  Le  Breton,"  replied  Dan. 

"Oh !  a  Frenchwoman !"  cried  Miss  Linkin.  "They 
are  the  worst  of  all." 

"She  is  of  French  Canadian  stock,"  said  Dan,  "but 
she  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  an  Englishwoman." 

"She  can't  be!"  contradicted  Miss  Linkin.  "Don't 
you  talk  such  rubbish,  Daniel." 

"You  always  say  I  can  talk  nothing  else,  auntie," 
Dan  reminded  her,  "and  now,  if  mother  and  you 
will  excuse  me,  I  will  hurry  up  and  unpack  my  picture 
before  going  to  meet  Isabel;  and,  Aunt  Lizzie,  you 
can  let  me  have  all  the  bills  to-morrow  morning.  I 
am  as  rich  as  a  Jew ! — anyway,  I  feel  so.  I  have  done 
uncommonly  well,  and  everyone  of  you  must  have  new 
frocks." 

"Thank  you,  Daniel,"  said  Miss  Linkin  freezingly; 
"but  I  pray  you  not  to  include  me.  I  have  my  own 
income." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  201 

Poor  Miss  Linkin!  she  possessed  a  pound  a  week, 
all  her  own,  left  to  her  by  an  old  school  friend. 

"Oh!  I  forgot  for  the  moment,  auntie,  that  you 
were  the  moneyed  member  of  the  family.  But  any- 
way, you  must  let  me  give  you  a  present." 

"Save  your  money,  Daniel,"  said  Miss  Linkin,  with 
big  emphasis  on  the  verb.  "Your  eyes  may  go  wrong 
again." 

This  was  too  much  for  Dan.  He  fled  to  unpack  his 
picture,  lest  he  should  say  something  he  might  regret. 

Miss  Linkin  nodded  at  the  closed  door,  and  her 
corkscrew  curls  wobbled. 

"That  boy  always  lets  his  money  burn  holes  in  his 
pocket,"  she  remarked  to  her  sister. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
SUCH  is  LOVE! 

"Ix  is  too  lovely  for  words!"  cried  Isabel,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  her  brother's  picture  of  the  Madonna. 

They  were  in  the  studio  after  coming  back  from 
Rosendale  Road.  Mrs.  Webster  had  retired  for  the 
night,  and  Miss  Linkin  was  waiting  up  to  see  "lights 
out,"  an  aggravating  habit  she  had  (according  to 
Dan). 

"And  is  Miss  Le  Breton  really  as  beautiful  as  that, 
Dan?"  asked  Isabel,  "or  have  you  idealized  her?" 

"It  is  a  portrait — a  bond-fide  portrait,"  answered 
Dan,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  lovely  picture.  "I  have 
often  asked  myself  what  gave  that  look  to  her  eyes. 
There  is  sorrow  there.  There  is  submission  to  sorrow. 
There  is,  too,  peace.  How  came  that  look?  There 
is  a  mystery  about  Miss  Le  Breton.  I  heard  that  she 
was  for  years  mentally  unsound.  This  I  cannot 
believe.  She  is  intellectual  above  the  ordinary,  and 
absolutely  normal.  There  must  have  been  some 
reason  for  the  false  report  being  set  afoot.  Some- 
times I  have  thought  it  might  be  to  keep  away  suitors. 
Her  mother  and  her  uncle  are  so  passionately  fond 
of  her.  But  that  idea  of  mine  is  absurd,  after  all,  for 
being  so  attached  to  the  girl,  they  would  not  wish 
to  damage  her  reputation.  There  is,  as  I  say,  a 
mystery." 

"Is  her  father  dead?"  asked  Isabel.  \ 

"Ah,  that  is  a  sad  part  of  the  story  that  is  known," 
said  Dan.  "Her  father  was  Eweretta  Alvin's  father. 

202 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  203 

Poor  Aimee  Le  Breton  is  illegitimate.  It  is  said  that 
the  half-sisters  were  so  exactly  alike  that  they  might 
well  be  mistaken  for  one  another.  But  Philip  Barri- 
more,  who  should  know,  says  there  is  a  difference, 
and  that  Miss  Le  Breton,  though  amazingly  like  Miss 
Alvin,  could  not  possibly  be  mistaken  for  her." 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Barrimore  is  getting  over  Miss 
Alvin's  death?"  asked  Isabel,  her  eyes  still  on  the 
picture. 

"Yes,  I  certainly  do,"  affirmed  Dan.  "It  is  sur- 
prising, after  the  fearful  hullabaloo  he  made  at  first. 
Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Barrimore  and  Mr.  Burns  abso- 
lutely refused  to  let  Philip  go  to  Beachy  Head,  for 
fear  he  should  throw  himself  over  the  cliff!  Now 
he  talks  of  Eweretta  without  emotion.  He  talks 
to  Miss  Le  Breton,  who  is  so  like  her,  without 
emotion." 

"Such  is  love!"  sighed  Isabel. 

"Are  you  ever  coming?"  Miss  Linkin  called  from 
the  back  door. 

"All  right,  aunt,"  Dan  called  back. 

"But  it  isn't  all  right,"  Miss  Linkin  protested. 
"It  is  time  everyone  was  in  bed,  and  it's  wasting  gas 
to  no  purpose." 

"We  had  best  go  in,  Dan,"  said  Isabel,  sighing. 

She  had  so  longed  for  a  long  talk  with  her  brother. 

"Never  mind,  old  girl,"  answered  Dan  in  a  com- 
forting way.  "I'll  get  up  and  walk  to  school  with 
you,  and  we  can  finish  out  talk  then." 

Isabel  smiled.  "It  is  good  to  have  you  home 
again !"  she  told  him. 

"Put  the  gas  fire  out!"  called  Miss  Linkin. 

"All  right!"  shouted  Dan.  "You  will  take  cold, 
aunt,  standing  at  the  door !" 

"How  annoying  she  is!"  he  added. 


204  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  Isabel  rejoined.  "She  has  been 
so  good,  looking  after  us  all.  It  has  been  wonderful 
the  way  she  has  always  kept  us  out  of  debt;  and  she 
does  look  after  mother  so  beautifully." 

The  brother  and  sister  entered  the  house  arm  in  arm, 
like  the  chums  they  were,  and  Isabel  flew  upstairs. 
Dan  went  into  the  dining-room,  blundering  over  the 
furniture  in  the  dark,  and  finally  sprawling  over 
something  on  the  hearth. 

"What  are  you  doing !"  cried  Miss  Linkin,  arriving 
with  a  candle. 

"Barking  my  shins,  if  you  want  to  know,"  replied 
Dan  crossly.  "Look  here!  what  is  that  hearthrug 
rolled  up  like  that  for,  just  ready  to  throw  anyone 
down  ?" 

"No  one  was  expected  to  go  in  here  again  to-night," 
announced  Miss  Linkin.  "What  do  you  want  cut 
of  this  room?  All  your  luggage  is  upstairs." 

"I  left  some  of  my  beer  in  the  jug,"  Dan  ex- 
plained. 

"Yes,  Daniel,  and  you  stuffed  your  table-napkin 
in  the  top,  and  it  is  all  soaked  in  beer." 

"Never  mind,  auntie!  But  where  is  the  jug? 
It  isn't  on  the  sideboard." 

"You  will  find  it  in  the  kitchen  on  the  dresser, 
Daniel,  but  I  fear  it  will  be  flat.  Don't  drink  it  if 
it  is.  Draw  some  more.  Mary  Ann  is  gone  to  bed." 

"All  right,  auntie.  You  go  to  hush-a-by-by  too. 
I'll  be  up  in  a  few  minutes." 

"And  please,  Daniel,  don't  drop  your  boots  on 
the  floor  with  a  bang  when  you  take  them  off.  You 
wake  everyone  up.  And  you  will  be  careful  to  put 
the  gas  out  in  the  kitchen  when  you  come  out." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  muttered  Dan,  as  he  heard  the  faint 
creaking  of  the  stairs  that  told  him  Aunt  Lizzie  had 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  205 

retired  for  the  night.  "But  she  is  a  good  sort,  though 
she  is  such  a  worrier,"  he  added,  referring  to  his  aunt. 

As  good  as  his  word,  Dan  was  up  to  accompany 
Isabel  to  the  James  Allen  School,  which  is  situated  in 
Dulwich  Grove,  and  they  had  one  of  their  own 
"chummy"  talks. 

Dan  boasted  of  his  riches,  and  told  Isabel  that  he 
was  getting  on  so  well  that  she  would  not  need  to 
teach. 

She  turned  a  bright  face  to  him,  exclaiming:  "I 
won't  give  up  my  independence,  Dan!  And  I  love 
teaching — and  just  think  what  it  would  be  to  stay 
at  home  all  day!  I  should  soon  become  as  fidgety  as 
Aunt  Lizzie!  Dan,  you  must  learn  not  to  notice 
what  she  says.  She  is  like  Martha — 'troubled  about 
many  things';  but  I  can't  sufficiently  admire  her 
unselfish  devotion.  Lots  of  people  can  say  nice 
things,  but  few  people  do  as  many  nice  things  as 
Aunt  Lizzie.  She  will  renovate  my  gowns  for  me,  and 
she  takes  no  end  of  pains  to  make  them  look  quite 
up-to-date.  As  to  mother,  she  looks  after  her  with 
a  patience  that  would  shame  many  so-called  tender 
nurses." 

"It  is  all  true,"  agreed  Dan,  "but  she  is  an  aggra- 
vater,  all  the  same.  Do  you  know,  when  I  leave  you 
at  the  school,  I  shall  go  into  Sydney  Grove  and  see 
Colonel  Lane.  It  is  quite  close.  Did  you  see  him 
when  he  called?  He  is  an  awfully  nice  old  fellow. 
His  daughter  is  staying  with  the  Barrimores  while 
he  is  here." 

"No,  I  was  not  at  home  when  he  called,"  said 
Isabel.  "But  you  must  ask  him  in  to  supper,  and 
we  can  go  to  the  studio  afterwards." 

"Just  what  I  was  intending  to  do,"  he  answered. 
"And  to  revert  to  gowns — you  have  got  to  let  me 


206  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

give  you  a  nice  'rig'  for  the  winter — a  frock,  and 
hat,  and  some  furs.  We  will  go  to  Jones  and  Higgins' 
shop  at  Peckham  on  Saturday." 

Isabel  protested. 

"I  never  argue,"  he  told  her.  "I  am  the  master, 
recollect,  and  I  am  in  funds.  You  will  have  to  advise 
me  what  to  get  for  mother  too.  I  am  determined  to 
make  Aunt  Lizzie  have  something.  I  shall  tell  her 
that  if  she  doesn't,  I'll  make  a  frightful  mess  with  my 
bath  every  morning  and  refuse  to  rub  my  shoes  when 
I  come  in." 

"That  ought  to  have  its  effect,"  laughed  Isabel. 
"But  here  we  are  at  the  school,  so  good-bve  till  to- 
night." 

Dan  made  his  way  to  Sydney  Grove,  and  Colonel 
Lane  was  delighted  to  see  him. 

"You  must  come  and  chat  to  Henderson,"  he  said. 
"It  will  do  him  a  lot  of  good.  He  is  really  better." 

It  was  true  that  Colonel  Henderson  was  better. 
The  visit  of  his  friend  had  prolonged  his  life,  as  by  a 
miracle.  Colonel  Lane  had  tactfully  gained  over 
Mrs.  Henderosn  completely,  and  had  delicately  intro- 
duced much  comfort  into  the  poor  home. 

Thanks  to  a  big  cheque  from  Mr.  Burns,  great 
changes  had  been  made  in  the  house.  Also  a  carriage 
had  been  hired  on  fine  days,  and  the  invalid  had  been 
carried  to  it,  and  enjoyed  the  drives  really  wonder- 
fully. 

The  miserable  garden,  laid  waste  by  the  boys,  had 
been  put  in  order,  so  the  outlook  was  no  longer 
depressing. 

Mrs.  Henderson  had  become  quite  cheerful  under 
the  happier  state  of  things,  and  absolutely  worshipped 
Colonel  Lane. 

Poor  woman!  her  own  health  had  not  been  good 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  207 

since  her  stay  in  India,  and  what  with  her  poverty, 
her  husband's  illness,  her  difficulty  in  dealing  with 
the  boys,  her  life  had  not  been  all  roses. 

Colonel  Lane  had  proved  more  capable  of  managing 
the  boys  than  of  managing  his  own  girl.  He  liked 
them,  too.  They  were  healthy,  bright,  mischievous 
boys,  with  plenty  of  ability. 

Both  were  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  Sandhurst. 
It  had  all  been  arranged  by  Mr.  Burns.  They  were 
to  have  their  chance. 

Dan  stayed  at  the  Hendersons'  about  half  an  hour, 
and  obtained  Colonel  Lane's  promise  to  dine  at  Vine 
Cottage  the  following  evening.  "Supper"  would  be 
converted  into  "dinner"  for  the  occasion. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   COLONEL  GOES   AGAIN    "ON   DUTY'' 

COLONEL  LANE  and  Dan  Webster  were  in  the  studio 
of  the  latter,  enjoying  an  after-dinner  cigar.  Isabel 
was  correcting  school-books  in  the  dining-room  under 
difficulties,  but  she  had  promised  to  go  out  to  the 
studio  when  her  work  was  finished. 

Colonel  Lane  sipped  his  whisky  meditatively  be- 
tween his  puffs,  and  Dan  saw  clearly  that  he  had 
something  to  say,  which  he  considered  important,  and 
was  seeking  for  words  to  express  himself. 

At  last  the  Colonel  spoke:  "I  am  a  little  uneasy 
about  Phyllis,  Webster.  Mrs.  Barrimore  wrote  me 
that  she  was  piqued  and  not  well.  Did  you  notice 
anything  ?" 

Dan's  eyes  smiled  out  of  an  immovable  countenance. 
He  knocked  the  ash  off  his  cigar  before  replying. 

Then  he  said,  rather  unexpectedly:  "I  think  Miss 
Lane  looked  a  little — cross  about  something.  That 
was  all  I  noticed." 

"Cross,  was  she?"  jerked  out  the  Colonel.  "Well, 
I  know  that  symptom.  It  means  that  she  imagines 
herself  in  love  again.  Have  you  an  idea  who  it  is 
this  time?" 

Dan  opened  his  eyes  wide.  Really  the  Colonel  had 
more  penetration  than  he  had  given  him  credit  for. 

Colonel  Lane  went  on  without  waiting  for  a  reply : 
"Phyllis  has  been  in  and  out  of  love  so  much  that  I 

208 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  209 

have  been  kept  in  a  ferment.  It  would  be  a  comfort 
to  get  her  safely  married.  Young  Langridge — you 
never  met  him,  I  think? — young  Langridge  would 
have  kept  a  firm  hand  on  her;  but  she  wouldn't 
marry  him,  though  she  had,  I  must  own,  led  him  on 
shamefully  if  she  meant  to  refuse  him.  I  personally 
preferred  young  Arbuthnot,  but  he  would  have 
yielded  to  Phyllis  in  everything,  and  Phyllis  would 
have  given  him  trouble.  You  see,  Webster,  when  a 
girl  is  continually  falling  in  love  with  a  fresh  man, 
it  does  not  always  end  when  she  marries.  If  I  had 
believed  that  Phyllis  would  have  kept  in  love  with 
Arbuthnot,  I  would  have  consented  to  that  match. 
I  was  right  in  refusing,  for  now  there  is  someone  else. 
Who  is  it,  Webster?  Not  you,  I  know,  for  I  hear 
that  she  treated  you  with  coldness." 

Dan  laughed  boyishly. 

"No,  Colonel.  It  certainly  was  not  I."  he  said, 
"But  can't  you  guess?" 

"No!  I'm  damned  if  I  can!"  broke  out  the 
Colonel  irritably. 

"Have  you  never  thought  of  Philip?" 

"Philip!"  roared  the  Colonel.     "Impossible!" 

"Why?"  asked  Dan.  "You  surely  know  that 
Philip  has  got  over  Eweretta's  loss?" 

"Yes,  I  do  know  it!"  acknowledged  the  Colonel. 
"He  got  over  it  mighty  quickly!  But  I  wouldn't 
have  him  for  a  son-in-law  for  anything!  Conceited, 
domineering  fellow  that  he  is!  Look  how  he  treats 
his  mother  and  his  uncle!  He  patronizes  and 
snubs  them  by  turns.  You  don't  mean — you  can't 
mean  that  there  is  anything  really  in  your  sugges- 
tion?" 

"I  do,  though!"  affirmed  Dan.  "Phyllis— I  mean 
Miss  Lane — is  constantly  at  the  bungalow.  I  think 


210  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

they  had  a  'tiff,'  and  I  think  that  is  at  the  bottom  of 
the  trouble." 

"That  decides  me  to  go  home  at  once,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "Henderson  has  turned  the  corner,  for 
the  time,  at  any  rate — and  you,  like  a  good  fellow, 
will  run  in  and  see  him  sometimes,  won't  you?  Yes, 
I  must  go  and  put  a  stop  to  this  infernal  business!" 

Dan  was  rather  alarmed.  He  had,  without  intend- 
ing it,  put  a  spark  to  a  powder  magazine.  He  hastened 
to  try  to  smooth  matters. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  said  what  I  did;  really  it  is 
only  conjecture  on  my  part.  I  may  be  quite  wrong. 
I  wouldn't  make  a  disturbance,  if  I  were  you — pardon 
me  for  saying  it ! — till  I  was  very  sure." 

"My  dear  boy,  I  am  going  to  make  very  sure.  Oh ! 
you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  girl  like  Phyllis 
to  manage — such  a  born  coquette!" 

"She  did  not  behave  like  one  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned," Dan  remarked  with  boyish  candor.  "She 
was  very  sweet  to  me  while  my  eyes  were  wrong,  but 
afterwards  she  put  me  in  my  place,  I  can  assure  you. 
She  was  in  the  same  house  with  me,  and  seeing  me 
all  the  time,  but  she  never  willingly  talked  to  me.  She 
was  discreet  almost  to  the  point  of  primness." 

The  entrance  of  Isabel  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation 
at  this  point. 

"At  last  I  am  free!"  laughed  Isabel.  "Oh,  but  it 
has  been  difficult  to  correct  those  books!  Aunt 
Lizzie  has  been  wrapping  up  all  our  poor  little  show 
of  silver  in  white  tissue  paper,  and  she  got  a  big  lens 
to  examine  each  article  to  see  if  Mary  Ann  had 
scratched  it,  and  every  now  and  then  she  would  say: 
'Look  at  this,  Isabel !  Isn't  this  a  scratch  ?' ' 

Dan  pushed  his  sister  down  into  a  comfortable 
wicker  chair,  telling  her  that  she  was  now  in  the  land 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  211 

of  liberty,  where  glorious  untidiness  reigned 
supreme. 

Isabel  glanced  round  with  bright,  merry  eyes. 

"This  is  the  other  extreme.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Colonel  Lane?  Here  a  little  of  Aunt  Lizzie's  law  and 
order  would  not  come  amiss." 

"Wouldn't  it?"  cried  Dan.  "No  serpent  of  ungodly 
tidiness  shall  enter  my  paradise !" 

"I  think  the  studio  looks  tidy  enough,"  commented 
Colonel  Lane  baldly.  (He  was  thinking  of  Phyllis 
and  this  new  intolerable  complication.) 

"But  you  are  a  man,  you  see!"  Isabel  reminded 
him.  "Look  at  that  packing-case  on  a  chair;  that 
heap  of  paper  on  the  floor;  that  open  chest  with  its 
bulging  contents — and  cigar  ash  everywhere." 

"I  am  happy.  That  is  the  main  point,"  asserted 
Dan.  "And  sometimes  I  have  a  grand  clear-up!" 

"That  is  the  worst  mess  of  all !"  Isabel  assured  the 
Colonel.  "If  you  could  only  see  Dan  doing  this  grand 
'clear-up,'  you  would  not  forget  it.  But,  tell  me,  have 
you  admired  the  'Madonna'?" 

Colonel  Lane  had  not  even  looked  at  it  till  now, 
and  Dan  had  been  disappointed,  for  he  had  put  it  in 
a  good  light,  hoping  to  hear  the  Colonel  exclaim  some- 
thing laudatory. 

But  now  that  the  soldier  did  look,  he  was  so  struck 
with  admiration,  that  at  first  he  could  say  nothing; 
and  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  not  to  compliment  the 
young  painter  in  the  ordinary  fashion. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  such  a  pure  expression," 
he  said,  gazing  intently  at  the  picture.  "I  think  it 
is  the  best  conception  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  that  I 
ever  saw.  To  my  mind,  all  the  big  painters  have 
failed  to  paint  the  soul  of  the  Virgin  Mother.  Here 
it  is :  love,  sorrow,  and  infinite  peace." 


212  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Say  no  more!"  cried  Dan.  "Leave  it  there! 
That  is  what  I  saw  in  the  face  of  Aimee  Le 
Breton." 

Then  Colonel  Lane  fell  into  ordinary  compliment. 
"You  are  a  great  painter,  Webster,"  he  said.  "You 
not  only  see,  but  you  can  put  on  record  what  you 
see." 

Dan  was  filled  with  a  wild  joy.  This  was  indeed 
praise.  He  knew,  too,  that  Colonel  Lane  was  the 
kind  of  man  who  never  said  more  than  he  meant. 

The  young  painter  began  instantly  to  build  castles 
in  Spain — such  castles! 

Ah!  they  would  all  see  some  day  that  he  had 
made  no  mistake  when  he  had  chosen  Art  for  a 
career. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?"  inquired  the 
Colonel. 

"Give  it  to  a  church,"  answered  Dan. 

"But  surely  you  will  exhibit  it  first?"  said  the 
Colonel. 

Dan  had  never  thought  of  it !    Why  not  ? 

If  the  picture  could  be  hung  in  the  Academy,  or 
the  "New,"  then  would  it  be  a  more  worthy  thanks- 
giving offering. 

Perhaps,  too,  "Our  Lady"  would  bring  the  young 
painter  good  fortune ! 

Dan,  for  a  reason  scarcely  consciously  formulated 
in  his  mind,  but  perfectly  understood  by  his  mother 
and  Aunt  Lizzie,  wanted  now  to  make  a  big  name — 
to  grow  rich. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  suggested  that,  Colonel!"  Dan 
said.  "It  had  never  come  into  my  mind.  You  see, 
I  had  resolved,  if  my  eyes  got  well,  to  give  a  'Madonna' 
to  a  church  I  am  fond  of.  I  painted  my  best,  because 
I  would  only  offer  my  best.  But  I  owe  all  to  Miss 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  213 

Le  Breton — for  being  what  she  is,  and  for  being  so 
sweet  as  to  sit  to  me." 

Colonel  Lane's  severe  face  softened  as  he  looked  at 
the  frank,  boyish  face. 

"My  dear  Webster,  you  are  as  free  from  vanity  as 
Philip  is  full  of  it.  DonV,  get  'swelled  head'  when  yoa 
get  famous — as  you  will !" 

"I  will  try  not  to,"  laughed  Dan;  "but  I  am  not 
famous  yet!" 

Isabel  looked  at  the  Colonel  with  shining  eyes,  full 
of  gratitude.  She  was  so  glad  to  hear  her  brother 
encouraged.  She  knew,  perhaps  better  than  anyone 
else,  the  struggle  the  young  man  had  had.  She  had 
seen  his  despair  when  his  eyes  went  wrong.  She 
had  known  that  Miss  Linkin  and  Mrs.  Webster  had 
added  to  his  weight  of  sorrow  by  assuring  him  that  his 
own  wil fulness  had  brought  its  punishment. 

"Do  you  really  believe  that  Dan  will  become 
famous?"  she  asked  the  Colonel,  in  order  to  lead  him 
on  to  further  words  of  encouragement,  for  his  opinion 
had  been  clearly  enough  expressed. 

"I  don't  think  at  all,"  asserted  the  Colonel.  "I  am 
sure!" 

"Dan!  Dan!"  cried  Isabel.  "Do  you  hear  that? 
And  it  is  true — I  feel  it  is  true.  I  wish  I  could  see 
Miss  Le  Breton;  I  would  give  her  a  real  hug.  I  feel 
I  love  her  for  the  gift  of — what  she  is." 

"You  will  see  her,  I  hope,"  said  Dan.  "Mrs. 
Barrimore  is  most  anxious  for  you  to  go  to  Hawk's 
Nest  for  your  next  holiday.  I  promised  for  you." 

"You  must  go,"  put  in  the  Colonel.  "Mrs.  Barri- 
more would  give  you  a  good  time.  She  is  the  very 
sweetest  woman  on  earth — isn't  she,  Webster?" 

"Mrs.  Barrimore  is  goodness  and  sweetness  per- 
sonified," assented  Dan. 


214  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

When  Colonel  Lane  was  walking  to  East  Dulwich 
later,  along  the  solitary  road,  he  found  himself  recall- 
ing Isabel's  face  and  figure.  He  had  not  thought  he 
had  observed  her  closely,  but  now  found  that  no  detail 
had  escaped  him.  There  was  nothing  to  suggest  the 
school  teacher  in  the  slim,  well-garbed  girl.  There 
was  a  freshness  about  her,  as  if  she  lived  out  of  doors, 
and  the  scent  of  sweet  meadows  clung  to  her.  Her 
eyes  were  blue  as  Dan's  and  set  far  apart.  Her  face, 
broad  at  the  forehead,  narrowed  to  a  small,  pointed 
chin.  It  was  almost  a  round  face,  and  looked  won- 
derfully child-like.  Her  brown  hair  was  abundant, 
and  was  coiled  simply  upon  her  well-shaped  head. 
These  things  he  had  noted,  but  it  had  been  the 
honesty  of  Isabel's  eyes  that  had  unconsciously 
caused  him  to  record  the  rest. 

"Miss  Webster  is  a  good  woman,"  he  decided,  "and 
she  is  young — but  little  older  than  Phyllis.  I  hope 
they  may  become  friends.  It  might  be  that  Phyllis 
would  be  influenceable  by  that  girl." 

Phyllis!  His  thoughts  darted  painfully  back  to 
her.  He  loved  her  with  a  great  love,  yet  he  had  to 
appear  hard.  Perhaps  he  had  been  too  hard  on  her, 
he  thought  regretfully,  but  her  motherless  condition 
had  seemed  to  call  for  greater  strictness  on  his  part. 

He  questioned  himself  with  severity  as  he  strode 
along  the  Half  Moon  Lane.  Where  had  he  been  most 
at  fault  regarding  the  upbringing  of  Phyllis? 

Probably  his  great  mistake  had  been  in  sending  her 
to  that  private  highly-recommended  boarding  school 
at  Brighton.  There  had  been  a  scandal  about  one  of 
the  teachers,  who  had  been  much  attached  to  Phyllis. 
The  scandal  had  occurred  just  after  Phyllis  had  left 
the  school.  It  had  resulted  in  the  withdrawal  of  a 
number  of  pupils. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  215 

Yes,  the  Colonel  decided,  it  was  at  this  school  that 
Phyllis  had  learned  her  coquetry. 

But  this  affair  with  Philip  Barrimore  must  certainly 
be  put  a  stop  to  for  every  reason.  His  own  love  for 
Philip's  mother  made  the  whole  business  ridiculous. 
Then  again,  Philip  would  be  the  most  impossible  hus- 
band for  a  flighty  girl  like  Phyllis. 

Certainly  to-morrow  he  must  go  back  to  Hastings. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

UNCLE   ROBERT   IS   EFFECTIVELY  DAMPED 

WHEN  Colonel  Lane  arrived  at  Hawk's  Nest,  he 
found  the  place  en  fete.  "Wings  and  Winds"  had 
come  out  and  there  was  a  general  jubilation. 

A  pile  of  dainty  green  volumes  stood  upon  the 
dining-room  table,  and  Uncle  Robert  was  uncorking 
champagne. 

Colonel  Lane  had  not  advised  his  friends  of  his 
coming,  as  he  had  a  sort  of  Sherlock  Holmes  idea  that 
he  might  make  a  discovery  or  two  by  coming  without 
warning. 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Uncle  Robert,  putting  down  the 
bottle,  that  he  might  grasp  his  friend's  hand.  "This 
is  a  pleasant  surprise;  and  you  are  just  in  time  to 
join  us  in  a  glass  to  'Wings  and  Winds.' ' 

In  nervous  haste,  Uncle  Robert  pounced  upon  one 
of  the  green  volumes,  opening  it  at  the  title  page  to 
show  to  his  friend,  who  was  now  holding  Annie  Bar- 
rimore's  hand  between  his  own  two,  and  looking  at  her 
in  that  tender,  adoring  way,  which  never  failed  to  call 
up  the  pretty  girlish  blush. 

"Look !  my  boy !"  cried  Uncle  Robert,  beaming  and 
swelling  with  pride,  "Isn't  it  nicely  produced? 

"Wings  and  Winds. 
"By  Robert  Burns. 

Take  it  in  your  hand  man!  Uncut  edges,  you  see, 
.and  beautiful  paper !" 

216 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  217 

Colonel  Lane  took  the  little  volume  and  admired 
it,  while  the  proud  author  struggled  with  the  wire  on 
a  "magnum." 

All  at  once  Phyllis,  who  had  run  to  Philip  in  the 
smoking-room  to  inform  him  that  her  father  had 
come,  plucked  at  the  parental  sleeve. 

"We  didn't  expect  you,  dad,"  she  said,  using  that 
rapid  manner  of  speech  which  was  an  indication  in 
her  case  of  excitement. 

Colonel  Lane  kissed  his  daughter,  noting  with 
anxiety  that  she  was  certainly  not  looking  well,  also 
that  her  eyes  did  not  meet  his.  His  face  softened  as 
he  looked  at  her,  but  changed  and  became  severe  when 
Philip  came  in  wearing  a  patronizing  smile. 

"Ah,  Colonel!"  he  said,  as  he  extended  a  hand. 
"You  are  come  at  the  right  moment  to  congratulate 
the  author  of  'Wings  and  Winds.' ' 

For  Mrs.  Barrimore's  sake  Colonel  Lane  gave  his 
hand  to  Philip  with  a  show  of  friendliness,  but  the 
young  man  saw  dislike  in  the  fine,  stern  face. 

"Very  nicely  got  up,  isn't  it?"  Philip  next  said,  as 
he  took  up  one  of  the  volumes. 

Opening  it  haphazard,  he  conned  a  page,  while  an 
amused  smile  played  about  his  mouth. 

Colonel  Lane  eyed  him  with  marked  disfavor. 

"Got  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  reviewers  yet,  though," 
Philip  remarked. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  reviewers,"  blurted  out  Uncle 
Robert,  who  had  succeeded  in  opening  the  bottle,  and 
was  filling  the  glasses.  "I  am  not  going  to  let  the 
thought  of  a  man  in  an  iron  mask  spoil  to-night's 
pleasure.  But  the  proverb  says,  'He  who  talks  of 
happiness  summons  grief,'  so  we  will  not  talk  of  it. 
Drink  to  the  success  of  'Wings  and  Winds !'  " 

Every  glass  was  raised. 


218  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  standing  by  the  Colonel,  and 
when  the  toast  had  been  drunk,  she  said  to  h:'m: 
"Now  you  must  have  a  meal,  and  you  will  stay 
here  to-night,  won't  you  ?  Mrs.  Ransom  will  not  have 
made  any  preparations." 

"Of  course  he  will  stay!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Robert. 
"We  are  going  to  make  a  night  of  it,  eh,  Lane?" 

Philip  went  back  to  the  smoking-room,  the  little 
volume  in  his  hand,  and  after  a  moment  Phyllis 
followed  him. 

"It's  awful  rot,  you  know!"  said  Philip,  indicating 
the  book  of  verse. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  answered  Phyllis.  "Mr. 
Burns  is  so  happy  about  it." 

"He  won't  be  very  happy  when  he  reads  the  re- 
views, however,"  said  Philip.  "Look  here!  He 
rhymes  home  with  throne.  Listen,  did  you  ever  read 
such  drivel? 

"  'Where  are  joys  like  those  of  home? 
I  would  not  change  them  for  a  throne, 
I  have  no  wish  afar  to  rove, 
When  here  I  find  a  home  and  love' ' 

"I  think  it  is  very  pretty,"  said  Phyllis,  who  liked 
Uncle  Robert,  and  did  not  like  to  hear  his  work  run 
down. 

"That  is  because  you  are  an  ignorant  little  girl!" 
Philip  told  her,  pinching  her  cheek. 

Philip  went  on  reading : 

"  7  wandered  through  the  dales  of  dawn'  What 
are  the  'dales  of  dawn'?  Perhaps  he  means  at  dawn. 
'My  unaccustomed  eyes  fast  set.'  Good  heavens! 
'fast  set.'  If  he  means  fast  shut,  he  ought  to 
go  on  to  describe  how  he  came  a  cropper  in  the 
'dales  of  dawn.'  Well,  all  I  hope  is  that  the  public 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  219 

won't  find  out  that  the  author  of  this  idiotic  drivel 
is  my  uncle !"  . 

Philip  and  Phyllis  had  their  backs  to  the  open  door. 
They  did  not  see  Uncle  Robert  transfixed  on  the 
threshold. 

He  had  come  in  search  of  them,  and — he  had 
heard ! 

All  the  light  had  died  out  of  his  face  when  he  stole 
away.  He  did  not  join  his  sister  and  Colonel  Lane. 
He  went  out  into  the  garden. 

There  was  a  frost,  and  the  stars  were  shining. 

But  Uncle  Robert,  who  loved  nature  in  all  her 
moods,  did  not  note  the  sparkle  upon  the  laurel 
bushes  or  the  quiet  splendor  of  the  starlit 
sky. 

He  walked  along  the  gravel  path  slowly  and  pain- 
fully, his  eyes  cast  down.  A  copy  of  his  book  was  in 
his  breast  pocket.  He  felt  it  there,  as  if  a  dead  hand 
was  laid  upon  his  heart. 

Was  all  that  he  had  heard  true?  Philip  was  clever. 
He  was  a  critic.  Was  this  the  kind  of  thing  that 
would  be  said  by  reviewers  of  his  little  book?  Would 
they  all  sneer  and  ridicule  him? 

"There  is  no  fool  like  the  old  fool!"  he  told  him- 
self with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head.  "I  have 
learned  a  lesson." 

The  dry  dead  leaves  on  the  big  oak  trees  which 
bordered  the  croquet  lawn  seemed  to  Uncle  Robert 
to  whisper,  "To-night  will  come  a  wind — a  small 
wind,  and  we,  nipped  by  frost,  shall  fall  and  be  swept 
up  by  the  gardener;  we  shall  lie  dead  and  forgotten 
on  the  rubbish  heap.  But  we  shall  be  the  new  green 
leaves,  and  we  shall  laugh  in  the  spring  sunshine  and 
folks  will  say,  'Look  at  the  new  leaves!'  They  will 
not  know  that  they  are  we  come  back !" 


220  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Uncle  Robert  laughed  a  little  sadly  as  his  imagina- 
tion was  stirred  thus  by  the  rustle  of  the  dry  leaves. 

It  had  always  been  thus  with  him.  Fancies  came 
with  every  sound  and  sight  of  nature,  and  rhymes 
had  followed — rhymes  which  he  had  just  heard  called 
"drivel." 

And  even  now,  in  the  realization  that  he  had  failed 
to  give  the  songs  expression  which  he  heard  in  his 
heart,  something  sang  still.  He  could  still  hear  the 
voices  of  nature.  That  was  left  to  him. 

Oddly  enough,  he  felt  no  animus  against  Philip 
for  his  brutal  criticism.  Philip  had  the  critical  gift, 
which  had  made  his  own  work  so  perfect  in  its  way. 

Uncle  Robert  accepted  the  verdict  he  had  heard. 
He  had  no  vanity.  It  was  only  joy  he  had  felt  in 
seeing  his  rhymes  in  print — joy  such  as  a  child  feels 
over  a  sand  castle  which  is  to  him  wonderful. 

The  joy  was  gone.  He  was  like  the  child  who  has 
seen  a  big  wave  wash  his  wonderful  castle  away 
— and  he  could  have  wept! 

Colonel  Lane  was  eating  a  meal  in  the  dining- 
room  and  Annie  Barrimore  was  with  him. 

She  was  speaking  of  Robert's  book,  her  shining  eyes 
expressing  the  pleasure  she  felt. 

"It  is  so  good  to  see  him  so  glad,"  she  was  saying. 
"He  has  been  giving  joy  to  others  all  his  life,  and 
has  now  the  thing  he  so  desired.  I  do  hope  the  critics 
will  be  kind." 

"I  hope  that  Philip  will  hold  his  tongue,"  said  the 
Colonel  with  some  asperity,  remembering  the  expres- 
sion he  had  noted  on  that  young  man's  face. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  looked  troubled.  "You  do  Philip 
an  injustice,  dear  friend,"  she  said.  "He  would  not 
say  anything  to  grieve  his  uncle,  when  he  sees  him 
so  happy  about  the  book." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  221 

"I  hope  not,"  replied  the  Colonel  shortly. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  always  a  little  hurt  when 
Colonel  Lane  spoke  of  her  boy  in  that  tone  of  voice. 
This  dear  friend — who  was  so  very  dear — certainly 
did  not  understand  Philip. 

Colonel  Lane  was  thinking  how  very  blind  some 
adoring  mothers  could  be.  He  saw  he  had  hurt  her, 
and  was  sorry.  To  hurt  so  gentle  a  creature  was  to 
his  soldier-heart  like  shooting  a  flower. 

He  laid  a  hand  on  hers  and  said :  "Let  us  give 
Robert  a  good  time.  He  said  we  must  make  a  night 
of  it.  We  will  ask  him  to  read  some  of  his  verses  aloud 
to  us." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  smiled  up  at  him.  "That  is 
a  very  sweet  thought  of  yours,"  she  said  gratefully. 
"We  will  all  go  to  the  drawing-room.  There  is  a 
lovely  fire,  and  we  have  not  yet  had  our  coffee.  We 
dined  rather  earlier  to-night,  and  thought  it  would 
be  nice  to  have  our  coffee  later.  I  will  go  and  fetch 
Robert.  I  saw  him  go  out  into  the  garden.  You 
find  Philip  and  Phyllis,  and  make  them  go  to  the 
drawing-room.  By  the  way,  how  do  you  think 
Phyllis  is  looking?" 

"We  will  talk  of  Phyllis  later,  dear,"  he  said. 

Uncle  Robert,  who  had  conquered  himself  to  some 
degree,  entered  at  that  moment,  and  taking  his  sister's 
arm,  led  her  to  the  drawing-room;  where  the  others 
joined  them  almost  immediately. 

"Now,  Burns!"  said  the  Colonel  heartily.  "You 
said  we  were  to  make  a  night  of  it!  We  all  want  you 
to  read  us  some  of  your  verses  aloud." 

A  crooked  smile  passed  over  Uncle  Robert's  face 
as  he  stammered :  "No,  Lane.  I  think  not.  We  have 
had  enough  of  the  book  for  to-night.  I  have  been 
behaving  like  a  foolish  schoolboy  who  has  carried 


222  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

home  his  first  prize.  Annie  and  Phyllis  shall  play  and 
sing  to  us.  Annie,  old  girl,  can  you  sing  some  of 
those  old  songs  we  used  to  have  at  home  ?" 

Philip  looked  up  sharply  at  his  uncle.  He  saw 
plainly  that  something  was  amiss,  but  never  dreamed 
what  it  was.  He  felt  sorry,  for  he  was  fond  of  his 
uncle,  if  he  thought  little  of  his  poetry. 

"Do  read  us  some  of  the  verses,  uncle,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Burns  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  nephew.  "You 
should  not  ask  me,"  was  all  he  said. 

There  was  an  odd  dignity  about  Uncle  Robert  as 
he  spoke  the  brief  sentence,  which  escaped  no  one's 
observation;  and  everyone,  including  the  culprit 
himself,  felt  sure  that  some  wound  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

Colonel  Lane  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  some 
sneer  of  Philip's  had  been  noticed  by  his  uncle,  and 
that  he  was  deeply  hurt. 

Both  Philip  and  Phyllis  arrived  at  the  truth. 

"Can  he  have  heard?"  whispered  Phyllis  to  Philip. 

"It  looks  like  it.  I  am  horribly  sorry,"  Philip 
whispered  back. 

Colonel  Lane,  in  his  Sherlock  Holmes  capacity, 
noted  the  guarded  whispers  with  growing  wrath. 

When  Philip  rang  for  his  horse  to  be  got  ready, 
Colonel  Lane  stepped  up  to  him  and  said  icily :  "I  am 
coming  to  call  on  you  to-morrow  at  four  o'clock; 
mind  you  are  at  home." 

"Delighted,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Philip,  attempting 
a  smile,  which  succeeded  only  in  being  a  grimace. 

"What  the  devil  is  up  now,  I  wonder!"  muttered 
Philip,  as  he  rode  away.  "Lane  is  undoubtedly  on 
the  war-path.  I  wonder  if  he  knows  anything  about 
my  criticism  of  that  infernal  book?  I  did  not  lower 
my  voice — damn  it !" 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  223 

But  Philip  heartily  wished  he  had  kept  his  opinions 
to  himself.  Uncle  Robert  was  such  a  good  sort  He 
had  been  so  kind,  so  generous !  Philip  cursed  himself 
for  a  cad. 

All  the  same,  he  was  not  prepared  to  accept  a 
lecture  from  Colonel  Lane — the  man  who  had  the 
infernal  impudence  to  be  in  love  with  the  mother  of 
a  grown-up  son! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

DAMNING   EVIDENCE 

THE  morning  after   Colonel   Lane   arrived   so   un- 
expectedly at  Hawk's  Nest,  he  made  a  false  move. 

Determined  to  put  a  stop  to  the  visits  of  Miss 
Phyllis  to  the  bungalow  at  Gissing,  he  got  up  early 
and  took  the  young  lady's  cycle  home,  and  locking 
it  in  a  shed,  removed  the  key.  His  own  cycle  was 
also  kept  in  the  shed,  and  so  were  the  carpentering 
tools  with  which  he  occasionally  amused  himself. 
But  there  was  no  reason  for  anyone  except  himself 
and  Phyllis  ever  to  go  there. 

It  was  before  breakfast  that  Colonel  Lane  locked 
up  the  cycle.  He  saw  Mrs.  Ransom,  who  was  much 
amazed,  not  to  say  a  little  frightened,  to  see  him  at 
that  hour.  She  was  a  quiet,  reserved  woman,  with  a 
good  housekeeping  faculty — and  no  other.  She  was 
singularly  lacking  in  feminine  curiosity,  too,  so  when 
Colonel  Lane  told  her  that  if  Miss  Phyllis  asked  for 
the  key  of  the  shed  she  was  to  say  he  had  it,  she  did 
not  even  ask  herself  why  the  place  was  to  be  locked 
in  the  daytime. 

The  Colonel  said  he  was  going  to  breakfast  at 
Hawk's  Nest  and  then  would  be  home.  Miss  Phyllis 
would  be  home  in  the  afternoon. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  (it  was  at  a  later 
hour  now,  as  Uncle  Robert  no  longer  went  for  his 
morning  swim),  Colonel  Lane  went  home  and  Phyllis 
did  her  packing. 

224 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  225 

After  luncheon  Phyllis  said  good-bye  and  went  to 
get  her  cycle,  when  she  was  told  by  the  gardener  that 
her  father  had  taken  it  home  before  breakfast. 

Phyllis  bit  her  lip  with  vexation.  She  had  fully 
meant  to  cycle  over  to  see  Philip  before  going  home, 
and  she  knew  quite  well  that  her  father  had  done  this 
thing  to  prevent  any  chance  of  such  a  proceeding.  If 
she  went  home  her  father  would  keep  her  there. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  outwit  him. 

Taking  a  tram,  she  went  down  to  the  Memorial, 
and  thence  on  foot  to  a  shop  where  she  knew  she 
could  hire  a  cycle. 

So  it  happened  that  soon  after  three  o'clock  she  pre- 
sented herself  at  the  bungalow. 

She  knew  nothing  of  the  arrangement  her  father 
had  made  to  be  there  at  four  o'clock. 

Philip  was  out,  Davis  said,  so  Phyllis  put  her  cycle 
in  the  stable  and  made  herself  comfortable  by  the 
fire  to  wait,  removing  her  hat.  As  it  got  near  four 
o'clock  she  went  to  the  window,  and  to  her  horror 
saw  her  father  cycling  up  the  road. 

In  a  panic  she  ran  to  the  kitchen  and  told  the  as- 
tonished Davis  on  no  account  to  let  her  father  know 
she  was  there,  then  fled  into  Philip's  bedroom,  and 
shut  the  door,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 

She  heard  her  father  come  in,  and  then  Philip. 

"No,  I  am  not  disposed  to  shake  hands,  Philip,  till 
we  have  had  a  little  conversation,"  she  heard  her 
father  say. 

In  fact,  she  heard  all  that  followed. 

Philip  knew  from  this  opening  remark  that  he  had 
not  been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Colonel  Lane  was 
"on  the  war-path." 

"As  you  like,  sir,"  he  replied  coldly. 

"There    is    something    between    you    and    Phyllis. 


226  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

that  you  have  been  keeping  secret,"  went  on  the 
Colonel. 

Philip  paled. 

Had  the  Colonel  discovered  the  secret  marriage? 
and  did  he  think  Philip  had  been  a  party  to  it?  It 
was  quite  possible.  The  wonder  was  that  it  had  not 
all  come  out  before,  considering  that  it  was  duly 
registered  in  St.  Clement's  Church. 

"Your  face  tells  me  that  I  am  right,"  went  on  the 
Colonel. 

Philip  was  silent.  He  wanted  to  find  out  how 
much  the  Colonel  knew. 

"It  is  absolutely  disgraceful!"  thundered  the 
soldier,  "and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman,  this  conduct 
of  yours." 

Philip  was  now  furious.  He  cursed  the  folly  of 
women,  and  of  Phyllis  in  particular,  but  he  was  not 
going  to  give  her  away. 

"These  secret  meetings  at  the  bungalow — would 
any  man  of  honor  so  lower  himself  as  to  permit 
them?"  demanded  the  Colonel. 

"I  will  not  tolerate  such  language  even  from  you!" 
broke  out  Philip.  "I  have  done  nothing  dishonor- 
able!" 

"You  will  listen  to  just  what  I  choose  to  say,"  re- 
joined the  Colonel.  "I  will  put  a  stop  to  all  this  once 
and  for  all.  You  should  not  marry  my  daughter  if 
there  were  not  another  man  in  the  world — understand 
that!" 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Philip,  who  now  saw  day- 
light. "If  I  wanted  to — why  not?  What  have  you 
against  me  ?" 

"Everything,  sir!  everything!"  rejoined  the  Colonel. 
"When  was  my  daughter  last  here?" 

"Last  week,  I  think,"  replied  Philip. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  227 

He  then  caught  sight  of  the  hat  Phyllis  had  thrown 
on  a  chair  and  forgotten  in  her  haste  to  hide  her- 
self. 

"The  little  fool!"  he  said  inwardly,  as  he  moved 
himself  so  as  to  hide  the  chair.  "She  is  here!" 

It  was  this  movement  of  Philip's  which  was  his 
undoing. 

Colonel  Lane's  eyes  followed  it;  and  he  saw  the 
hat. 

"So,"  he  said  with  contempt,  "you  add  lying  to 
your  other  accomplishments!  There  is  her  hat! 
Where  have  you  hidden  her?" 

Philip  was  too  dumbfounded  to  answer. 

The  Colonel  strode  towards  the  bedroom  door. 

Philip  intercepted  him.  He  was  now  sure  that  silly 
Phyllis  was  there,  and  he  feared  that  her  father  in  his 
present  mood  would  forget  that  his  daughter  was  no 
longer  a  child  and  might  thrash  her. 

Colonel  Lane  took  a  pace  back,  his  arms  folded. 

"Phyllis!"  he  called.  "Come  out  of  that  room  im- 
mediately !" 

Then  violent  sobbing  made  itself  heard  from  behind 
the  door. 

"Say  what  you  like  to  me,  sir,"  said  Philip,  his 
back  still  against  the  door,  "but  don't  be  hard  on 
Phyllis.  She  is  such  a  child !" 

"The  more  shame  to  you!"  roared  the  Colonel, 
"for  so  taking  advantage  of  her  innocence.  Move 
away,  and  let  her  obey  her  father." 

"Let  me  come  out,  Philip!"  sobbed  Phyllis. 

Philip  moved  away  from  the  door,  the  handle  of 
which  he  had  kept  gripped  tightly  till  then. 

Phyllis,  her  hair  fallen  from  its  securing  pins,  her 
face  blurred  with  weeping,  entered  the  room. 

"Philip  didn't  know  I  was  here.     Indeed  he  did 


228  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

not!"  she  cried.  "He  is  the  best  friend  I  have,  and 
you  want  to  separate  us!  I  am  miserable;  I  am  a 
most  wretched  girl,  and  if  you  knew  everything  you 
would  pity  me !" 

"Fiddlesticks!"  replied  the  Colonel  unkindly. 

He  had  seen  Phyllis  weeping  and  despairing  before. 

"Philip  does  not  want  to  marry  me.  It  is  all  a 
mistake!"  sobbed  Phyllis.  "He  could  not  marry  me 
if  he  wished  to  ever  so." 

"Is  she  going  to  confess?"  thought  Philip.  "I 
hope  to  goodness  she  is!" 

But  she  was  not. 

"I  suppose  Philip  has  a  wife  already  that  he  is 
ashamed  to  own  to,  then?  That  is  what  your  words 
imply." 

"Oh,  no!  no '."cried  Phyllis. 

"Think  you  have  said  too  much,  eh?"  sneered  the 
Colonel.  "Go  and  wash  your  face  and  do  your  hair, 
and  come  home.  You  have  evidently  got  a  cycle  from 
somewhere." 

"You  will  be  sorry  some  day  for  the  injustice  you 
have  done  me,  sir,"  Philip  said,  thinking  only  of  him- 
self and  the  false  position  into  which  the  folly  of 
Phyllis  had  placed  him.  He  had  taken  her  part,  but 
he  was  intensely  angry  with  her.  He  wished  he  had 
never  seen  her. 

Of  course,  his  mother  and  Mr.  Burns  would  hear 
the  Colonel's  version,  and  he,  Philip,  would  be  unable 
to  defend  himself,  because  he  had  promised  Phyllis 
to  keep  her  secret.  It  was  intolerable ! 

When  Phyllis  was  going  away  she  cast  an  im- 
ploring glance  at  him  for  sympathy,  but  he  turned  his 
head  away. 

After  his  visitors  had  gone,  Philip  was  so  angry  and 
so  upset  that  he  could  not  stay  indoors.  He  took 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  229 

his  hat  and  strode  across  the  field  towards  the  White 
House. 

He  had  no  conscious  intention  to  go  there,  but  find- 
ing himself  at  the  gate,  he  entered. 

He  must  get  a  change  of  some  sort.  That  idiotic 
little  Phyllis  had  spoiled  all  chance  of  work  for  him. 
He  felt  in  great  need  of  sympathy. 

It  was  Pierre  who  admitted  him,  and  great  was  his 
surprise  to  find,  not  the  bulky  Colonial  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, but  Miss  Le  Breton  having  tea  alone. 

"Bring  another  cup,  Pierre,"  Eweretta  said,  with 
great  self-possession,  when  she  had  given  her  hand  to 
Philip.  "I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Barrimore,  but  both  my 
mother  and  my  uncle  have  driven  into  Hastings," 
she  said  calmly,  "but  I  expect  them  back  any  moment 
now." 

She  sat  at  the  little  tea-table,  a  beautiful,  composed 
figure,  in  a  closely-fitting  dark  blue  dress.  She 
seemed  to  create  an  atmosphere  of  peace  around  her. 
The  bright  firelight  made  purple  glints  in  her  black 
hair. 

"You  will  find  me  a  dull  companion,  I  fear,  Miss 
Le  Breton,"  Philip  said  lamely.  "I  don't  know  why 
I  came.  I  have  had  a  very  unpleasant  quarter  of  an 
hour  with  Colonel  Lane." 

She  looked  inquiry. 

"You  see,"  he  blurted  out  (he  must  speak), 
"Colonel  Lane  has  got  the  idea  I  want  to  marry  his 
daughter,  and  he  is  furious." 

"And  don't  you?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"No!  by  heaven,  I  don't!"  he  answered  with  con- 
viction; "besides,  I  couldn't  if  I  wanted  to." 

She  waited. 

"Phyllis  has  got  into  a  scrape;  I  can't  tell  you 
what,  because  I  have  promised  to  keep  her  secret. 


230  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

She  has  treated  me  like  a  big  brother,  and  come  to 
me  with  her  troubles.  I  have  tried  to  help  her,  and 
this  is  my  reward." 

Eweretta  looked  her  astonishment. 

"Colonel  Lane  thinks  I  have  got  up  a  secret  intrigue 
with  the  girl.  He  won't  believe  my  word.  There  was 
no  end  of  a  row." 

Eweretta  filled  a  tea-cup  which  Pierre  had  brought, 
and  passed  it  to  Philip. 

"I  ought  .not  to  be  telling  you  this,"  went  on  the 
young  man,  "but  I  have  my  weak  moments  like  the 
rest" 

"We  all  have  weak  moments,  certainly,"  said 
Eweretta,  "but  I  don't  think  they  are  always  our 
worst." 

"Don't  you?"  said  Philip.  "I  should  have 
thought  you  would  have  held  different  ideas.  Your 
sister — your  half-sister — despised  weakness." 

"Perhaps  that  was  because  she  had  always  been 
happy,"  said  Eweretta. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Philip.  "She  was  very 
different  from  you  in  many  ways." 

"Perhaps  you  are  different  from  the  Philip  Barri- 
more  she  knew,"  said  Eweretta. 

"I  am,"  said  Philip.  "I  was  a  better  fellow,  I 
think,  when  she  knew  me.  I  was  less  selfish  and  hard, 
and — conceited !" 

He  laughed.  Somehow  it  amused  him  to  hear  him- 
self saying  such  things  of  himself. 

As  for  Eweretta,  she  liked  him  better  than  she  had 
done  since  the  renewal  of  their  acquaintance.  But 
no  more  intimate  talk  was  possible,  for  just  then  Mrs. 
Le  Breton  and  Mr.  Alvin  returned. 

Philip  went  soon  afterwards,  saying  that  he  must 
pack  a  bag,  as  he  intended  running  up  to  town. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   FLIGHT   OF   PHYLLIS 

PHYLLIS  LANE,  on  reaching  home,  went  at  once  to 
bed.  The  next  morning  she  did  not  come  down,  so 
Mrs.  Ransom  went  up  to  her  room — to  find  the  door 
locked. 

As  she  could  get  no  answer,  though  she  called  a 
number  of  times,  she  informed  the  Colonel. 

"Let  her  alone,"  he  said.  "She  is  in  a  temper, 
that  is  all.  Let  her  stay  all  day.  It  will  do  her  good." 

Mrs.  Ransom,  who  had  had  some  experience  of  the 
"tantrums"  of  Miss  Phyllis,  followed  the  Colonel's 
advice,  but  when  evening  came  and  Phyllis  did  not 
appear,  she  got  anxious.  "The  poor  child  must  be 
starving,"  she  said.  « 

Then  Colonel  Lane  went  himself  and  knocked  loud- 
ly and  called  without  obtaining  an  answer. 

Then  he  put  his  shoulder  to  the  door  and  burst  it 
open. 

The  room  was  empty. 

Consternation  and  fear  took  possession  of  him.  He 
reproached  himself  bitterly  for  his  harshness. 

Phyllis  was  so  erratic,  what  might  she  not  have 
done? 

"She  may  be  at  Hawk's  Nest,"  he  said,  but  he  did 
not  believe  it.  His  heart  sank,  and  fear  possessed 
him  such  as  he  had  never  felt  on  the  battlefield. 
What  might  not  a  wilful,  excitable  girl  like  Phyllis 
do? 

231 


232  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  will  go  to  Hawk's  Nest,  Mrs.  Ransom,"  Colonel 
Lane  said  in  a  strange  voice.  "Don't  let  the  servants 
know  anything — unless  it  is  inevitable." 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Barrimore  was  much  exer- 
cised in  spirit.  Things  appeared  to  be  all  going 
wrong.  Uncle  Robert  had  put  away  the  copies  of  his 
book,  and  refused  to  speak  of  it. 

Philip  had  sent  a  letter,  which  she  found  to  be  only 
a  line  to  say  he  was  starting  at  once  for  London,  and 
had  no  time  to  come  in.  A  letter  was  enclosed  for 
Phyllis,  with  the  instruction  that  it  should  be  given 
into  her  own  hand.  Added  to  that  there  were  the 
underlined  words: — 

"7  can  trust  you,  mother,  regarding  this  letter  for 
Phyllis.  I  don't  want  it  mentioned." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  arranging  chrysanthemums 
in  her  flower-vases  when  Colonel  Lane  was  announced. 
Mr.  Burns  had  gone  out  to  change  some  books  at 
Brown  and  Woodley's  library. 

A  glance  was  sufficient  for  the  woman  who  loved, 
to  see  that  the  old  Colonel  was  well-nigh  heart-broken. 

"My  dear  friend!"  she  exclaimed,  putting  out 
both  her  hands  to  him  and  searching  his  face  with 
agonized  eyes,  "what  is  it?" 

Two  tears  stole  down  the  strong,  almost  severe 
face  of  the  soldier,  which  caused  Annie's  own  tears  to 
gush  forth. 

"Tell  me,  dearest !  tell  me !"  she  pleaded. 

"Phyllis  has  run  away,  Annie !"  he  told  her,  making 
a  great  effort  to  control  himself. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  thought  of  the  letter  in  her  pocket, 
but  she  could  not  betray  Philip. 

"I   found   out — accidentally — that  she   and   Philip 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  233 

were  lovers,"  he  said  firmly.  "I  went  over  to  the 
bungalow  when  I  left  you.  Phyllis  was  there — hiding 
like  a  common  housemaid — in  Philip's  bedroom. 
There  was  a  scene.  I  brought  Phyllis  home.  She 
went  to  her  room  and  would  not  come  out.  I  left 
her  there,  as  I  thought,  to  get  over  her  temper.  This 
morning  I  forced  the  door.  She  was  gone.  I  must 
go  over  and  see  Philip." 

"Philip  has  left  suddenly  for  London,"  gasped  Mrs. 
Barrimore. 

"Then  she  is  gone  with  him!"  cried  the  Colonel. 

"I  am  sure  she  has  not,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore 
hastily. 

"How  can  you  be  sure,  dear?"  he  asked  her 
hopelessly. 

"I  am  sure,  and  I  can't  tell  you  why,"  she  said, 
trembling. 

How  could  Philip  leave  a  letter  for  Phyllis  if  she 
were  with  him? 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Burns  came  in,  one  arm  full  of 
library  books. 

"I  say,  Lane!"  he  broke  out  in  his  usual  blustery 
fashion,  "I  would  not  let  Phyllis  go  on  the  East  Hill 
alone  in  the  evening  if  I  were  you." 

"Phyllis!  on  the  East  Hill!  When  was  she 
there?"  demanded  the  Colonel. 

"She  went  up  by  the  lift  quite  late  last  night.  I 
heard  it  remarked  upon  in  the  town,  I  am  sorry  to 
say.  I  thought  you  ought  to  know.  Phyllis  is  a  dear 
little  girl,  but  she  does  too  fnuch  as  she  likes.  She 
is  a  bit  of  a  handful,  I  know." 

"Burns,  Phyllis  has  run  away,"  groaned  the  father. 

"Run  away?  Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Robert. 
"Even  Phyllis  would  draw  the  line  at  that." 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless,"  said  the  Colonel.     "What 


234  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

are  we  to  do  ?  I  don't  want  to  set  all  Hastings  talking, 
yet  I  must  make  inquiries." 

"I  think  she  will  come  back  of  her  own  accord," 
said  Uncle  Robert.  "She  will  soon  have  enough  of 
it.  What  made  her  do  it  ?" 

Colonel  Lane  repeated  what  he  had  told  Mrs.  Barri- 
more,  and  Mrs.  Barrimore  told  her  brother  of  Philip's 
sudden  departure  for  London. 

"Phyllis  may  have  known  Philip  was  going,  if  we 
did  not,"  said  Mr.  Burns. 

"I  believe  they  have  gone  together,"  affirmed  the 
Colonel.  "But  what  was  she  doing  on  the  East  Hill 
at  night?  It  is  so  lonely — dangerous  even." 

Mrs.  Barrimore  turned  her  h^ad  away.  Herfacehad 
become  ashen.  She  recalled  the  incident  of  a  woman's 
body  being  picked  up  on  the  rocks  below  that  cliff. 

Mr.  Burns  all  at  once  took  the  reins  in  his  own 
hands. 

"Look  here,  Lane.  First  of  all,  we  will  send 
guarded  wires  with  prepaid  replies  to  all  your  friends 
to  ask  if  Phyllis  is  there.  If  we  find  she  has  gone 
to  none  of  them,  we  will  wire  Philip  at  the  Savage 
Club.  If  that  fails,  we  must  at  once  go  to  the  police.  I 
am  sure  the  girl  would  not  go  to  any  of  our  Hastings 
acquaintances,  and  if  we  went  round  inquiring  of 
them,  we  should  only  make  a  scandal.  Don't  you 
worry !  I'll  see  to  it  all  for  you.  Really,  I  shall  scold 
Phyllis  myself  when  I  do  find  her — a  thing  I  have 
never  done.  I  am  surprised  at  Philip!  He  is  much  to 
blame.  He  knows  quite  well  what  Phyllis  is,  and  he 
did  very  wrong  to  encourage  her.  He  has  no  notion 
of  marrying  her,  I  am  certain." 

Colonel  Lane  stared  vacantly  in  front  of  him.  At 
last  he  said : 

"It  is  no  good  wiring  to  Philip." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  235 

"Why?"  inquired  Uncle  Robert. 

"Because  he  lied  to  me  when  I  was  at  the  bunga- 
low. He  said  the  last  time  Phyllis  had  been  there 
was  a  week  ago.  She  was  in  his  bedroom  then — his 
bedroom!  Think  of  it!" 

"He  may  not  have  known  it,"  murmured  the 
mother. 

"Of  course  he  knew  it,"  pronounced  the  Colonel. 

There  was  an  awkward,  a  dismal  silence. 

Then  Uncle  Robert  spoke : 

"Did  Phyllis  take  any  luggage?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  came  straight  here  when  I  found 
her  room  empty,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"You  ought  to  have  examined  the  room.  There 
may  have  been  a  letter.  These  romantic  girls  always 
leave  a  letter — on  the  pin-cushion,  I  believe,"  said 
Uncle  Robert.  "But  I  will  send  the  wires,  if  you 
will  give  me  likely  addresses." 

Colonel  Lane  gave  several,  but  remarked  bitterly: 
"If  she  meant  to  get  away  from  me — her  father — she 
would  not  go  where  I  could  easily  find  her.  But  send 
the  wires." 

"And  you  and  I  will  go  and  examine  her  room," 
said  Mrs.  Barrimore. 

The  pretty  bed-chamber  of  Phyllis  was  littered  with 
odds  and  ends  which  a  careless  girl  throws  about, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  packing.  The  bed  had  not 
been  slept  in.  There  was  no  letter  to  be  found. 
Colonel  Lane  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  with  his 
chin  on  his  breast.  Mrs.  Barrimore  laid  a  gentle  hand 
on  his,  but  he  did  not  heed  it. 

Mrs.  Ransom  came  in  with  some  wine,  but  Colonel 
Lane  waved  her  angrily  away. 

"Come  home  with  me,  dear,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Barrimore. 


236  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

He  rose  and  followed  her  like  a  child. 

"Upon  my  word!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Ransom,  as  she 
saw  them  depart.  "Miss  Phyllis  ought  to  be  down- 
right ashamed  of  herself !" 

The  answers  to  the  telegrams  came.  No  one  had 
seen  Phyllis. 

Then  Uncle  Robert  went  to  the  police. 

In  the  meantime  Davis  had  given  a  spirited  account 
of  the  "row"  to  Pickett,  who  had  merely  laughed. 

"So  the  old  Colonel  didn't  know!"  he  remarked. 
"Young  folks  are  pretty  artful!" 

It  was  from  Minnie  Pickett  that  Thomas  Alvin 
heard  of  the  disturbance. 

Eweretta  had  held  her  peace  till  then.  But  as  her 
uncle  gave  Minnie's  version  to  her  and  Mrs.  Le 
Breton,  she  spoke  up. 

"There  was  no  love  affair  between  them  at  all," 
she  said.  "Philip  told  me  the  truth.  I  know  he  told 
me  the  truth.  Miss  Lane  treated  him  as  a  brother. 
They  had  known  each  other  from  children.  She  took 
her  little  troubles  to  him.  That  was  all." 

By  the  following  night  it  was  known  all  over 
Hastings  that  Miss  Lane  had  run  away. 

It  was  known,  too,  that  Philip  Barrimore  had  gone 
away. 

Mrs.  Hannington,  who  had  been  over  to  Pickett's 
Farm,  was  quite  tired  out;  she  had  called  on  every- 
one she  knew  to  impart  the  amazing  news  that  Mr. 
Barrimore  and  Miss  Lane  had  gone  off  together! 

No  reply  had  come  from  Philip  to  the  wire  his  uncle 
had  sent.  He  had  not  been  to  the  Savage  Club,  and 
he  knew  nothing.  He  was  too  angry  to  write  home, 
and  no  one  knew  his  address. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

PHILIP   TAKES   DRASTIC    MEASURES 

PHILIP.,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  had  been  to  his  pub- 
lishers and  received  a  big  check  due  to  him,  and 
then  had  taken  a  bedroom  at  the  Adelphi  Hotel. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  stayed  there,  but  it 
occurred  to  him  that  it  was  conveniently  near  to 
the  Savage  Club — which  was  probably  why  Philip 
did  not  go  there  and  so  get  his  wire  from  his  Uncle 
Robert.  Philip  rarely  did  the  thing  he  had  planned 
to  do. 

But  he  had  planned  something  for  once  which  he 
was  very  determined  to  carry  through,  at  any  cost, 
and  which  would  create  a  sensation  too ! 

He  had  had  a  letter  from  Captain  Arbuthnot,  to- 
gether with  one  for  Phyllis,  which  he  had  left  under 
cover  with  his  mother  for  her.  Captain  Arbuthnot 
had  quelled  the  disturbance,  and  had  been  ordered 
to  Bombay.  His  return  to  England  was  uncertain. 
His  uncle  had  died,  so  he  was  now  in  possession  of  a 
decent  income.  He  wanted  his  wife.  He  asked 
Philip  to  arbitrate  for  him  with  Colonel  Lane,  fearing 
that  if  he  wrote  directly  to  the  fiery  old  Colonel,  his 
poor  little  wife  would  get  a  severe  scolding,  which  he 
wanted  to  spare  her. 

Philip's  idea  of  arbitration  was  to  dispatch  Phyllis 
to  Bombay,  and  tell  her  father — afterwards! 

He  had  come  to  London  to  see  a  friend — Captain 
Hurst — who  was  taking  out  his  wife  in  a  few  days  to 

237 


238  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Bombay.  He  meant  to  arrange  with  them  to  take 
Phyllis  to  her  husband.  Then  he  would  return  to 
Hastings  and  carry  off  Phyllis.  This  was  the  most 
difficult  part  of  his  programme.  He  would,  he  knew, 
not  be  admitted  at  Colonel  Lane's  house,  and  he  felt 
sure  Phyllis  would  be  forbidden  to  go  to  Hawk's  Nest. 
He  would  have  to  bring  all  his  wits  to  bear  upon  the 
problem.  But  he  was  quite  determined.  He  was 
thoroughly  sick  of  the  "Phyllis  complication."  He 
had  a  further  unpleasant  experience  to  go  through, 
however,  one  he  had  certainly  not  expected,  and  one 
which  was  compromising  enough. 

Phyllis,  very  untidy  and  tear-stained,  came  to  the 
"Adelphi,"  and  asked  for  him. 

She  had  been  to  his  publishers  and  got  the  address 
from  them. 

"I  have  run  away,  Philip,"  she  gasped,  when  he 
met  her  in  the  entrance  hall.  "I  found  out  that 
you  had  gone  to  London.  I  came  and  got  your 
address  from  the  publishers.  I  won't  go  back.  What 
ami  to  do?" 

"For  God's  sake  don't  begin  to  cry,"  Philip  said 
in  low,  angry  tones.  "Come  where  we  can  talk 
quietly." 

He  led  her  into  a  room  which  at  this  hour — late 
afternoon — he  knew  he  should  find  deserted. 

"Now,  Phyllis,"  he  began,  when  he  had  closed  the 
door,  "you  have  finished  playing  the  fool.  I  want 
you  to  understand  that.  You  say  you  will  not  go 
back  to  Hastings.  Well,  I  have  no  intention  of  allow- 
ing you  to  do  so.  You  are  going  to  sail  with  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Hurst  for  Bombay  and  join  your  husband. 
He  is  there." 

"Oh-h-h-h!"  sobbed  Phyllis. 

"Stop  that  nonsense !"  said  Philip  sternly. 


THE  THIRTEETNH  MAN  239 

"I'm  so  glad  to  go  to  dear,  dear  Charlie,"  cried 
Phyllis  brokenly.  "Charlie  never  scolded  me.  He 
never  looked  cross  at  me,  like  you  do!" 

Philip  looked  at  the  small,  piquant  face,  that  had 
now  broken  into  smiles,  and  marvelled.  Who  can 
understand  a  woman? 

Only  a  few  days  ago  she  was  pining  for  Dan 
Webster,  and  bemoaning  her  hasty  marriage.  Now, 
there  was  no  mistaking  her  joy  at  the  idea  of  going 
to  her  husband! 

"Oh,  won't  it  be  a  fine  surprise  to  dad !"  Phyllis 
continued,  beginning  to  rattle  on  quite  in  her  own 
natural  way.  "And  how  nice  that  Charlie  has  finished 
killing  all  those  horrid  natives!  And  Bombay! 
Won't  it  be  glorious  to  see  Bombay!  I  am  so  glad 
I  didn't  do— it!" 

"Do  what?"  asked  Philip,  who  did  not  feel 
interested. 

"Oh !  it  was  dreadful,  Philip !  I  went  up  the  East 
Hill,  meaning  to  throw  myself  over  the  cliff,  but  I 
couldn't,  after  all.  It  seemed  so  horribly  desolate 
and  awful  up  there  by  myself.  I  came  down  again, 
and  I  walked  up  Salters  Lane,  meaning  to  go  to  your 
mother.  They  all  thought  I  was  in  my  room.  I  went 
up  to  the  station  and  I  saw  your  bag.  Tutt  said  you 
were  off  to  London — and — " 

Philip  interrupted  her.  He  had,  in  fact,  not 
listened  to  a  word.  He  had  been  thinking  hard. 

"Phyllis,  we  must  go  at  once  to  the  'Grand,'  and 
I  must  give  you  over  to  Mrs.  Hurst.  She  will  help  me 
about  outfit.  You  must  have  clothes,  and  your 
passage  must  be  got.  There  is  an  awful  lot  to  get 
through  in  the  time." 

"But  I  haven't  any  more  money — except  six- 
pence," said  Phyllis. 


240  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"Oh,  don't  worry,"  answered  Philip  testily.  "I 
have  got  money,  and  someone  will  square  up  things 
after.  By  the  way,  Arbuthnot's  uncle  has  died." 

"How  nice  and  considerate  of  him!"  exclaimed 
Phyllis.  "You  see,  he  was  pretty  old,  so  it  couldn't 
matter  to  him  much,  could  it?  and  it  matters  a  lot  to 
Charlie  and  me.  Dear  old  Charlie !  Charlie  will  pay 
you  back,  Philip,  and  I  want  heaps  of  things.  I  must 
go  nice,  mustn't  I?" 

"You  are  anything  but  nice  now,"  Philip  told 
her  with  brutal  frankness.  "And  it  isn't  very  nice  for 
me  to  have  you  inquiring  for  me  here." 

"I  can  call  you  'papa'  as  we  go  out,"  said  Phyllis. 
"That  would  make  it  all  right — now  wouldn't  it?" 

Philip  flushed  angrily.    He  began  to  hate  Phyllis. 

"It  is  all  so  deliciously  romantic,"  she  went  on. 
"And  Dan  will  have  a  pill  to  swallow,  won't  he?" 

"He  won't  care  a  twopenny  damn,"  answered 
Philip.  "And  now  we  will  go,  please." 

Philip  could  not  be  civil.  The  girl's  sudden  high 
spirits  irritated  him  unspeakably.  She  had  worried 
his  life  out.  She  had  placed  him  in  a  false  position. 
He  had  still  to  face  her  father.  What  did  she  care 
about  the  trouble  she  caused  everyone?  She  was  de- 
lighted with  the  romance  of  going  out  to  Bombay. 

Philip  did  not  envy  Arbuthnot. 

Phyllis  tripped  merrily  along  at  his  side,  chatter- 
ing. None  of  his  snubs  appeared  to  affect  her. 

At  last  he  said :  "You  are  pretty  heartless,  Phyllis. 
You  care  nothing  that  your  poor  father  is  probably 
nearly  mad  with  anxiety,  and  I  can't  relieve  it  till 
you  have  sailed." 

"Dad  deserves  to  be  a  little  worried,  after  being 
so  cross,"  she  declared. 

"I   think  he  has  been  amazingly  patient,"   Philip 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  241 

told  her,  and  added  venomously:  "Don't  get  falling 
in  love  with  anyone  else  on  the  way  out!  I  shall  tell 
Mrs.  Hurst  to  keep  a  strict  hand  on  you." 

"How  unkind  you  are,  Philip!"  (She  spoke  with 
great  feeling.)  "When  I  am  going  to  my  dear 
Charlie !  I  shall  be  thinking  of  him  every  minute  till 
we  land !  And  won't  he  be  surprised  to  see  me !  But 
I  suppose  you  will  cable,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  cable.  He  sent  you  a  letter.  My 
mother  has  it.  But  you  can  do  without  that  now. 
It  was  to  ask  you  to  come  out  and  to  tell  you  about 
the  money." 

Phyllis  laughed. 

"Money!  oh,  won't  I  spend  some  in  those  lovely 
bazaars  I  have  heard  of!  Dan  is  welcome  to  his 
beautiful  Aimee  Le  Breton  now !" 

What  was  it  in  those  words  which  brought  a  sudden 
chill  to  Philip  Barrimore's  heart? 

An  image  of  the  girl  seemed  to  float  before  his 
eyes.  He  remembered  her  sweet  calm,  as  he  had  told 
her  his  worries,  a  calm  that  had  helped  him.  Yes, 
she  had  something  that  Eweretta  had  never  had. 
She  had  more  character,  more  sympathy.  Eweretta 
had  been  charming,  but  Aimee  was  really  more 
alluring. 

And  was  Dan  Webster  going  to  marry  her? 

"It  is  odd,"  said  Phyllis  meditatively,  "how  I  used 
to  hate  to  hear  Dan  talk  about  Aimee  Le  Breton!  I 
don't  care  now!  Of  course,  she  is  in  love  with  him 
too.  He  wore  a  flower  one  day  which  he  said  she 
had  given  him.  And  Dan  will  be  a  great  painter,  and 
he  will  be  always  painting  her.  It  will  be  nice  for 
him  to  have  a  wife  for  a  model,  won't  it?" 

"Oh,  do  stop  talking!"  cried  Philip.  "I  have  so 
much  to  plan  and  arrange." 


242  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

She  only  laughed. 

Philip  was  squirming  under  her  words.  Yes,  no 
doubt  Dan  would  marry  Aimee  Le  Breton.  Dan 
who  could,  of  course,  appreciate  her  beauty,  but  who 
was  quite — yes,  certainly,  quite  incapable  of  under- 
standing her  beautiful  soul! 

The  more  he  thought  of  her,  the  more  he  believed 
that  there  was  no  man  who  could  quite  adequately 
appreciate  her  except  Philip  Barrimore. 

"Here  we  are  at  the  'Grand/  "  he  said,  "and  I  wish 

you  looked  a  little  more  presentable!" 

****** 

After  leaving  Phyllis  with  Mrs.  Hurst,  Philip  wired 
to  Colonel  Lane : 


'Phyllis  quite  safe  and  well. 

"Philip.' 


But  he  gave  no  address.     Phyllis  must  have  sailed 
before  more  was  told. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

COLONEL    LANE    APOLOGIZES 

IT  was  Mrs.  Barrimore  who  opened  Philip's  telegram, 
for  Colonel  Lane  was  quite  prostrated. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Uncle  Robert  excitedly, 
as  his  sister  kept  her  eyes  glued  to  the  paper. 

"Phyllis  is  all  right,"  she  said  hysterically. 

"Who  sends  the  wire?"  was  the  next  question. 

"Philip,"  she  answered,  scarcely  audibly. 

"Then  it  is  true,"  pronounced  Uncle  Robert.  "How 
are  we  to  tell  him?"  (He  referred  to  Colonel  Lane, 
who  was  lying  down  in  the  drawing-room.  They 
were  in  the  dining-room.) 

"He  will  know  she  is  safe.  That  will  lessen  the 
other — blow,"  said  Mrs.  Barrimore.  u 

She  herself  felt  the  blow  acutely.  She  was  forced 
against  her  will  to  condemn  her  beloved  boy.  Philip 
had  acted  very  badly.  There  was  no  getting  over  it. 
He  had  caused  a  scandal  all  over  Hastings.  She  would 
never  have  believed  it  of  Philip — her  Philip.  She 
had  thought  that  of  all  the  world  she  understood  him 
best.  She  had  smiled  when  others  had  said  that  Philip 
had  forgotten  Eweretta — and  now  this  incredible 
thing  had  happened. 

"How  are  we  to  tell  him,  Robert?"  she  echoed  her 
brother's  words. 

Mr.  Burns  was  facing  the  open  door,  and  at  that 
precise  moment  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  the  soldier 
appeared  framed  there. 

243 


244  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"You  have  news  of  Phyllis,"  he  said  quite  calmly. 

Then  he  advanced  towards  the  others. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  handed  him  the  telegram.  What 
else  could  she  do? 

"So  they  are  together,"  he  said  in  dangerous  tones. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  gazed  at  the  outraged  father — the 
man  whom  she  so  tenderly  loved — with  eyes  full  of 
desperate  pleading.  The  culprit  was  her  only  son 
— the  son  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  herself  all 
her  life. 

Would  he  be  merciful? 

The  soldier  was  uppermost  in  Colonel  Lane  just 
then — the  soldier,  who  at  duty's  call  untwines 
clinging  arms  from  about  his  neck,  turns  a  deaf 
ear  to  entreaties  to  stay,  though  uttered  in  the  voice 
he  loves  best. 

Philip  should  be  punished,  even  though  he  was  her 
son — Philip,  who  had  befouled  a  name  which  was 
adorned  with  military  honors,  a  name  on  which  there 
had  up  to  now  been  no  stain. 

Phyllis  was  now  a  by-word  in  Hastings.  Her  con- 
duct was  discussed  at  every  tea-table.  And  this  was 
Philip's  doing — Philip,  who  had  had  the  impertinence 
to  dictate  to  his  mother — to  dictate  and  criticize. 

No,  even  for  Annie's  sake,  Philip  should  not  be 
spared. 

Mrs.  Barrimore,  watching  the  stern,  calm  face, 
saw  that  she  had  nothing  to  hope,  and,  mother-like, 
began  in  her  heart  to  hate  Phyllis,  who  had  brought 
her  boy  to  such  a  pass.  Of  course,  it  was  the  fault  of 
the  girl.  She  had  led  Philip  on.  She  had  always  been 
a  flirt  Surely  in  justice  Colonel  Lane  ought  to  re- 
member that! 

But  she  said  nothing. 

Colonel  Lane  took  his  hat  and  went  out. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  245 

He  walked  on  the  West  Hill  for  hours. 

Boys  were  still  playing  about  on  the  grass,  though 
their  football  was  over. 

The  moon,  big  and  round,  flooded  the  sea  with 
silver  light. 

The  riding-lights  of  the  fishing-boats  looked  like 
jewels  out  beyond  the  harbor. 

The  Old  Town,  lying  below,  with  its  lamps  lit,  was 
like  a  picture  from  some  old  romance.  Moonlight 
lay  tenderly  on  the  graves  round  All  Saints'  Church 
on  the  side  of  the  East  Hill.  The  ruins  of  Hastings 
Castle  stood  out  rugged  and  bold. 

On  all  this  the  eyes  of  the  soldier  rested  in  turn, 
but  he  saw  no  beauty  in  any  of  it.  Rage  filled  his 
heart. 

It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  when  he  at  last  made 
his  way  down  the  steep  path  that  led  home. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  miserably  after  this, 
two  or  three  days  in  which  he  had  never  visited 
the  dear  fireside  at  Hawk's  Nest;  two  or  three  days 
in  which  neither  Mrs.  Barrimore  nor  Uncle  Robert 
had  seen  him,  though  they  had  both  called. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  he  relented  and 
made  his  way  to  Hawk's  Nest. 

It  was  after  dinner. 

A  fierce  wind  was  blowing,  the  sea  roared  on  the 
shingle. 

Entering  the  familiar  dining-room,  where  Mrs. 
Barrimore  and  Mr.  Burns  still  lingered,  a  sense  of 
relief  came  over  the  Colonel.  It  lasted  but  for  a 
moment,  for  he  was  followed  into  the  room — by 
Philip. 

Philip  looked  haggard  and  worn.  The  mother  flew 
to  him  with  outstretched  arms. 

"Philip!  oh,  Philip!"  she  cried.- 


246  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Colonel  Lane  looked  coldly  on.  He  waited  till 
Philip  had  freed  himself  from  the  clinging  arms,  then 
he  said :  "Annie,  leave  us,  I  beg  of  you !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore,  with  her  chin  on  her  breast  and 
her  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  left  the  room  obediently. 

Colonel  Lane  closed  the  door  he  had  held  open  for 
her  to  pass  out ;  then  he  folded  his  arms  and  advanced 
towards  Philip. 

Uncle  Robert's  ruddy  face  had  paled. 

"Where  is  my  daughter,  you  scoundrel?"  de- 
manded the  Colonel. 

This  was  too  much  for  Philip.  He  had  been 
harassed  out  of  his  life  these  last  days.  He  had  done 
what  he  honestly  believed  to  be  the  best  for  a  girl 
for  whom  he  now  felt  something  akin  to  contempt — 
and  her  father  stood  there  calling  him  a  scoundrel. 
He  was  not  disposed  to  at  once  relieve  the  old  soldier's 
tension. 

"I  have  had  quite  enough  of  her!"  he  answered 
curtly. 

"What!"  roared  the  soldier.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  have  left  that  poor  deluded  girl,  after 
taking  her  away!  Tell  me  where  she  is?  Tell  me,  I 
say,  you  contemptible  cur!" 

Philip  was  white  with  passion.  "I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  your  daughter,"  he  said  with  feeling,  "and 
I  pity  the  man  who  has  got  her." 

Colonel  Lane  grasped  the  young  man's  shoulder 
fiercely,  while  he  hissed :  "Explain  that !" 

Philip  shook  the  hand  off,  and  savagely  projecting 
his  chin,  said : 

"I  have  a  good  deal  to  explain,  and  if  you  will  sit 
down  quietly  and  listen,  then  after  you  have  heard, 
I  think  you  will  see  the  necessity  of  an  apology." 

Colonel  Lane  sat  down  rigidly,  and  Philip  slowly 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  247 

and  wearily  took  the  chair  that  Uncle  Robert  pushed 
towards  him. 

"Phyllis  is  on  her  way  to  Bombay  to  join  her  hus- 
band," he  said  slowly. 

A  hissing  breath  came  from  the  Colonel's  throat. 
He  closed  his  mouth  with  a  snap.  His  eyes  stared. 
Philip  went  on: 

"Phyllis  was  married  to  Captain  Arbuthnot  before 
he  went  out  to  India.  They  were  married  at  St. 
Clement's  Church.  You  can  see  it  for  yourself  in  the 
register.  She  told  me  of  it  almost  at  once,  after  ob- 
taining my  promise  to  keep  the  communication  secret. 
She  came  to  me  to  get  letters  from  her  husband,  which 
were  sent  under  cover  to  me,  and  to  talk  of  her  various 
difficulties. 

"Well,  after  that  rather  unpleasant  half-hour  at 
the  bungalow,  I  thought  the  best  thing  was  to  get 
Phyllis  off  to  her  husband,  who  has  come  into  money. 
She  has  gone  with  Captain  and  Mrs.  Hurst — whom 
you  know  by  name  at  least.  Now  what  have  you  to 
say?" 

The  room  was  going  round  with  Colonel  Lane.  A 
great  buzzing  was  in  his  ears.  He  clutched  at  his 
collar. 

Uncle  Robert  came  and  loosened  it  and  gave  him 
some  brandy. 

Philip,  apathetic  and  played-out,  toyed  with  a  wine- 
glass as  if  unconscious  of  what  was  going  on. 

At  length  Colonel  Lane  gave  a  long  sigh  and  re- 
covered himself,  and  holding  on  to  the  table,  rose. 
"Philip,"  he  said,  "I  apologize."  Then  a  spasm 
caught  his  throat. 

Philip  seemed  to  rouse  out  of  a  kind  of  stupor.  He 
looked  at  the  old  soldier,  and  a  sudden  pity  seized  him. 
He  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  Colonel  grasped. 


248  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  am  to  blame,  sir,  a  good  deal  to  blame,  but  I 
am  not  so  bad  as  you  thought  me.  I  was  afraid 
Phyllis  was  about  to  wreck  her  life.  I  won't  go  into 
particulars  about  that.  To  send  her  to  her  husband 
seemed  the  only  thing  to  do." 

"I  know  how  difficult  she  is  to  deal  with,"  acknow- 
ledged the  Colonel,  "and  as  she  is  married,  it  is  best 
she  should  be  with  her  husband  as  quickly  as  possible. 
But  I  should  have  liked  the  manner  of  her  going  to 
have  been  different.  I  should  have  liked  to  say  good- 
bye!" 

Philip,  remembering  how  gaily  Phyllis  had  gone  off, 
pitied  the  father  the  more. 

"Do  you  know  it  is  all  over  Hastinsg  that  you  have 
eloped  with  her?"  said  Uncle  Robert. 

"I  daresay  it  is,"  answered  Philip,  "but  all  that 
can  soon  be  put  right.  She  didn't  go  with  me  at  all, 
but  came  afterwards  and  found  me  out.  I  had  gone 
to  make  arrangements  with  the  Hursts.  I  did  not 
trust  Phyllis.  I  did  not  know  what  folly  she  might 
commit." 

"All's  well  that  ends  well!"  said  Uncle  Robert 
"Let  us  fetch  Annie !" 

Mrs.  Barrimore  came  in  with  tear-stained  face,  her 
tender  mouth  smiling,  for  Uncle  Robert  had  whispered 
that  all  was  right. 

Then  all  had  to  be  told  over  again.  Mrs.  Barri- 
more was  still  somewhat  puzzled,  remembering  her 
conversation  with  Phyllis.  She  had  then  got  the 
impression  that  Phyllis  was  the  victim  of  a  hopeless 
love.  Phyllis  was  unexplainable — an  impossible  girl! 

"You  have  the  letter,  mother?"  asked  Philip. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  produced  it. 

"Give  it  to  the  Colonel,"  Philip  said.  "It  is  froiu 
Arbuthnot,  and  there  is  a  line  from  me." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  249 

Colonel  Lane  opened  the  letter  in  which  lay  con- 
firmation of  the  amazing  story  he  had  just  heard. 

"Mother,  I  am  so  tired,"  said  Philip. 

"And  starving,  my  own  boy!"  answered  Mrs.  Bar- 
rimore.  "You  must  have  a  meal  instantly." 

The  meal  was  ordered,  and  the  mother  sat  between 
her  dear  friend  and  her  son,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  with  shining  eyes. 

"I  feel  like  'Mr.  Wegg,' "  remarked  Uncle  Robert, 
"and  inclined  to  drop  into  poetry." 

But  no  one  listened. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE   HAND  OF   FATE 

WHEN  Philip  Barrimore  had  accepted  Colonel  Lane's 
apology  and  his  hand,  it  had  been  an  act  of  weariness 
and  pity  rather  than  an  accepting  of  new  relations. 
He  was  so  jaded  by  anger  and  resentment,  to  say 
nothing  of  getting  Phyllis  off,  that  peace  at  any 
price  seemed  the  only  thing  that  mattered  for  the 
moment. 

Uncle  Robert's  jubilation  had  been  a  little  pre- 
mature. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  the  first  to  make  the  discovery. 

Philip,  late  though  it  was,  announced  his  intention 
of  going  back  to  Gissing  on  foot.  Philip  hated 
walking,  and  he  was  dog-tired,  so  the  mother  knew 
that  the  strife  was  not  ended. 

She  did  not  oppose  him.  When  did  she  ever  oppose 
him? 

What  Philip  wanted  to  do,  that  he  did.  It  had  al- 
ways been  so. 

"Davis  will  come  for  my  bag,"  he  said  as  he  left, 
which  showed  his  mother  that  he  would  not  be  coming 
in  on  the  morrow. 

She  went  with  him  to  the  door  alone,  hoping  for 
some  comforting  word.  She  laid  a  gentle,  timid  hand 
on  his  arm  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"Oh,  don't,  mother!"  he  ejaculated.  "Women 
never  know  when  a  man  wants  to  be  left  alone!" 

The  young  man  caught  the  last  tram  to  Ore,  which 
250 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  251 

helped  him  a  little  on  his  way.  Then  he  strode  along 
in  the  darkness,  communing  with  himself. 

No  one  had  ever  been  such  a  victim  as  he !  Every- 
one misjudged  him!  He  could  not  even  be  allowed 
to  write  his  books  in  peace ! 

The  thought  of  his  book  brought  new  disagreeable 
reflections.  Aimee  Le  Breton  had  not  liked  it.  Why 
the  deuce  should  he  care  what  Aimee  Le  Breton 
thought?  Yet — yes,  certainly,  her  opinion  had  put 
him  out  of  favor  with  his  work.  Women  were  the 
devil's  own  mischief. 

And  while  he  thought  this,  he  unconsciously  fought 
with  an  impulse  which  he  felt  to  be  mastering  him, 
to  go  to  Aimee  Le  Breton,  and  drink  big  draughts  of 
the  peace  she  distilled. 

How  she  had  calmed  him  that  afternoon  when  he 
had  gone  to  the  White  House,  and  told  her  of  his 
"row"  with  the  Colonel.  It  had  not  been  her  words. 
They  had  been  few  enough.  It  was  herself.  There 
was  a  calming  atmosphere  about  her.  He  had  seen 
and  noted,  more  particularly  afterwards,  that  her  at- 
titude towards  him  had  changed  for  the  better. 

As  he  walked,  his  impulse  to  tell  her  all  the  rest  of 
the  story  about  Phyllis,  took  definite  shape.  He 
wanted  her  good  opinion.  He  wished  it  was  not  so 
damnably  late,  he  would  go  in  and  see  her.  If  he  could 
see  her  he  would  have  refreshing  sleep. 

But  he  would  cross  the  field,  tired  and  worn  out  as 
he  was,  and  look  at  the  White  House  before  entering 
the  bungalow. 

Davis  was  not  expecting  him,  and  had  taken 
"french  leave,"  locked  up  the  bungalow,  and  gone 
to  Hastings,  where  friends  persuaded  him  to  stay  the 
night. 

This  Philip  was  to  find  out  later. 


252  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Reaching  the  gate  of  the  bungalow,  the  young  man 
paused  to  light  a  cigarette.  "Pickett  has  been  burning 
rubbish,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  sniffed  the  odor  of 
burning. 

Leaving  the  road  by  a  stile  for  the  field,  Philip 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  upstairs  windows  of  the  White 
House.  In  two  of  them  lights  were  burning.  Behind 
one  of  the  two  windows,  probably,  was  the  calm 
maiden  who  had  been  so  strangely  filling  his  thoughts. 
He  vaguely  wished  he  knew  which. 

Coming  nearer,  he  saw  the  light  of  a  lantern 
moving  towards  the  little  wood.  Alvin  was  evidently 
not  gone  to  bed. 

What  had  he  got  in  the  little  wood  which  he  guard- 
ed so  jealously  and  visited  alone  at  night? 

Philip,  coming  up  to  the  garden  gate,  leaned  upon 
it  for  a  few  moments.  The  air  here  was  pungent  with 
chrysanthemums  and  dead  leaves.  It  was  curious 
that  the  scent  of  Pickett's  rubbish  fires  was  not 
evident  here,  yet  the  farm  was  nearer  to  the  White 
House  than  to  the  bungalow. 

With  a  big  sigh  of  weariness  Philip  turned  to  go 
home,  and  noted  that  now  a  light  was  lying  across  his 
front  garden. 

Evidently  Davis  had  heard  his  master's  footsteps 
and  had  lit  up. 

Ah,  well!  there  would  be  the  comfort  of  his  own 
fireside  awaiting  him — a  glass  of  grog  (he  could  do 
with  it  hot,  for  the  night  was  cold),  and  a  pipe. 

He  entered  his  back  garden  by  the  little  gate  that 
led  into  the  field,  and  was  surprised  to  see  no  light 
in  the  kitchen  window.  Soda,  too,  was  kicking  about 
in  the  stable.  Pickett's  rubbish  fires  smelt  more 
strongly  than  ever. 

Trying  the  back  door,  Philip  found  it  locked,  and 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  253 

after  vain  hammering,  he  went  round  to  the  front, 
which  was  lit — yes,  very  well  lit! 

Taking  out  his  latchkey,  he  opened  the  door,  and 
was  met  by  a  cloud  of  suffocating  smoke. 

Thoroughly  alive  now  to  the  situation,  he  made  his 
way  to  his  sitting-room.  He  knew  quite  well  what 
he  should  find. 

The  smell  of  burning  which  he  had  noticed  was  not 
from  Pickett's  rubbish  fires,  but  from  his  own  bun- 
galow. 

Through  the  thick  smoke  he  saw  that  one  of  the 
window-curtains  was  blazing.  All  his  papers  which 
he  had  left  scattered  on  table  and  chairs  under  the 
window  were  a  charred  heap.  The  writing-table  was 
on  fire,  also  the  wicker  chair  near  it,  where  Phyllis 
had  thrown  her  hat  on  that  memorable  afternoon. 
He  ran  to  the  kitchen,  shouting  for  Davis,  and,  of 
course,  getting  no  reply.  One  or  two  cans  of  water 
from  the  well  stood  near  the  scullery  sink.  He  took 
these  and  dashed  them  upon  the  burning  furniture. 

Then  the  hopelessness  of  the  situation  faced  him. 
The  place  would  burn  down  unless  he  could  get  help, 
for  the  drawing  of  water  from  the  well  was  a  long 
process. 

He  dashed  out  of  the  house  and  across  the  field 
towards  the  White  House,  and  going  to  the  side  of 
the  little  wood  shouted  for  Alvin. 

Alvin  quickly  appeared,  still  carrying  his  lantern 
and  calling:  "Quit  yelling!  I'm  coming!"  He 
ran  through  the  garden  to  Philip,  whose  voice  he  had 
at  once  recognized. 

"Anything  wrong?"  he  inquired. 

"For  God's  sake  come  and  help  me,  my  place  is  on 
fire!"  cried  Philip  hoarsely.  "That  fool,  Davis,  has 
left  the  place,  and  it  is  on  fire !" 


254  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I've  tackled  worse  fires,  I'm  thinking,"  said  the 
Colonial,  putting  on  a  speed  which  seemed  almost 
miraculous  for  a  man  of  his  bulk. 

The  fire  had  got  well  ahead  in  these  few  minutes, 
and  the  smoke  was  so  suffocating  that  it  seemed  al- 
most impossible  to  do  anything.  But  the  Colonial  set 
to  work.  He  tore  up  the  Turkey  carpet  and  laid  it 
over  the  burning  mass — of  what  he  did  not  know,  and 
called  to  Philip  to  shut  the  front  door. 

But  Philip  did  not  answer.  So  jaded  had  he  been, 
that  the  smoke  overcame  him,  and  he  lay  uncon- 
scious on  his  back,  where  he  had  fallen,  just  outside 
the  dining-room  door. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  Alvin  was  supporting' 
him,  and  giving  him  something  from  a  teacup.  The 
fire  was  extinguished,  and  the  only  light  was  that  of 
the  lantern. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Alvin  cheerfully — "a  deuce  of 
a  mess,  that's  all.  When  you  are  through  with  this 
whisky,  you  will  come  back  with  me.  We  can  make 
you  comfortable,  and  I  will  send  Pierre  to  take  charge 
of  this  place." 

Philip  could  only  gasp  his  thanks. 

Almost  in  a  dream,  he  once  more  crossed  the  field 
to  the  White  House,  but  coming  up  to  the  garden 
gate  he  was  roused  into  wakefulness.  There  were 
lights  in  the  rooms  downstairs,  and  there  were  voices. 
Aimee's  was  one,  he  distinguished  it,  and  it  was  the 
sound  of  it  that  brought  him  to  the  full  possession  of 
his  senses. 

The  women  had  heard  Philip's  call.  They  had  heard 
his  explanation  to  Alvin.  They  had  dressed  and  come 
down  to  prepare  for  the  guest  that  their  instinct  told 
them  would  come. 

A  wood  fire  was  crackling  and  sending  up  myriads 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  255 

of  gay  sparks  in  the  dining-room.  Lamps  had  been 
relighted,  and  Mattie  (without  cap  and  apron)  was 
laying  a  cold  repast. 

Mrs.  Le  Breton  was  upstairs  with  Faith  preparing 
a  bedroom. 

Alvin,  having  drawn  up  an  easy  chair  for  Philip 
near  the  fire,  went  away  to  remove  the  effects  of  his 
work  with  soap  and  water. 

Philip  was  left  alone  with  Eweretta. 

To  his  amazement  she  did  not  ply  him  with  ques- 
tions. All  the  women  he  knew  would  have  done  this. 
She  quietly  (how  quietly!)  moved  here  and  there, 
performing  little  womanly  tasks  for  the  general  com- 
fort. One  of  the  lamps  (hastily  lighted)  smoked  a 
little.  She  put  it  right.  She  rearranged  things  on  the 
table  that  the  sleepy  Mattie  had  laid  awry.  She  got 
out  decanters  from  the  sideboard. 

Philip  silently  watched  her,  and  was  again  con- 
scious of  the  peace  her  mere  presence  brought  him. 
She  was  wearing  a  crimson  wrapper,  and  her  black 
hair,  which  had  been  braided  in  a  long  thick  plait 
for  the  night,  hung  far  below  her  waist. 

At  last  he  spoke.  He  spoke  as  a  man  speaks  who 
dreams. 

"I  never  saw  Eweretta's  hair  down,"  he  said.  "She, 
too,  had  beautiful  black  hair  like  you.  I  think  it  must 
have  been  very  long." 

The  girl  kept  her  back  towards  him  as  she  fingered 
something  on  the  sideboard. 

"Yes,  it  was  very  long,"  she  answered. 

"Lots  of  things  in  you  remind  me  of  her,  besides 
your  looks,"  went  on  Philip.  "Your  voice  is  hers, 
and  you  have  her  trick  of  passing  your  hand  across 
your  forehead.  But  you  are  very  different  from  her, 
nevertheless.  She  was  always  laughing.  Do  you 


256  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

ever  laugh,  Miss  Le  Breton?  I  don't  think  I  have  once 
heard  you  laugh.  But  you  smile  more  than  she  did, 
and  differently." 

"I  am  as  you  say,  very  different  from  Eweretta 
— from  Eweretta,  as  you  knew  her,"  she  answered. 
"But  I  think  we  will  not  talk  of  her  just  now." 

"Miss  Le  Breton,"  he  broke  out,  "do  you  know  my 
book — the  book  you  did  not  like — is  destroyed,  and 
that  I  don't  think  I  am  sorry?" 

"Yet  you  said  you  put  your  heart  into  it,"  she  re- 
minded him. 

"I  don't  think  I  knew,"  he  answered  vaguely. 
"Not  then.  I  have  worked  a  lot  on  that  book  since 
I  read  some  chapters  to  you,  and  I  think  I  must  have 
seen  it  with  your  eyes.  I  got  not  to  like  it." 

Eweretta's  heart  was  beating  so  wildly  that  she 
foolishly  feared  he  might  hear  it.  It  was  an  absurd 
idea,  but  she  thought  it. 

Philip's  voice,  as  he  talked,  was  the  old  Philip's, 
and  not  the  voice  which  was  hard  and  critical  which 
she  had  noted  when  first  she  met  him  in  her  new 
character. 

"It  is  very  sad,  tragic  even,  to  have  so  much  work 
destroyed,"  she  said,  when  she  could  command  her 
voice. 

She  had  sat  down  now,  opposite  to  him,  but  at  a 
distance  from  the  fire. 

He  laughed  softly. 

"Yet  I  said  I  was  not  sorry,"  he  told  her. 

How  exquisitely  graceful  she  was!  Just  the  same, 
lines  and  curves  which  he  had  found  so  alluring  in 
Eweretta. 

"I  have  become  self-centred  and  hard  since — since 
Eweretta  died,"  he  said.  "If  she  had  lived,  I  should 
not  be  the  disagreeable  brute  I  am.  I  put  myself  in 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  257 

that  book,  and  frankly,  Miss  Le  Breton,  I  did  not  find 
the  picture  pleasing  on  revision.  You  made  me  see  it 
as  it  was." 

"What  did  I  say?"  she  asked  him. 

"Is  speech  a  necessity  between  some  people?"  he 
asked  her. 

"Here  I  am!"  exclaimed  Alvin,  coming  in  red  and 
shiny  from  much  soap  and  water.  "It  is  like  old  days 
in  the  prairie  to  get  an  unexpected  visitor.  Now  we 
will  fall  to  and  eat  a  good  supper.  It  will  be  my 
second,  but  I  figure  that  I  have  earned  it." 

"I  can  never  thank  you  sufficiently  for  all  your  kind- 
ness and  hospitality,"  said  Philip. 

"There  is  nothing  to  thank  me  for,"  pronounced 
Alvin. 

"I  feel  quite  ashamed,"  said  Philip.  "I  have  got 
you  all  out  of  your  beds,  and  given  no  end  of  trouble." 

"Come  and  have  supper,"  was  the  rejoiner. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

IN  THE  DEPTHS  OF  DESPAIR 

IT  was  on  the  tenth  of  November  that  Philip  Barri- 
more  received  a  letter  from  Dan  Webster.  That 
was  about  a  fortnight  after  the  fire  at  the  bungalow, 
and  Philip,  who  had  refused  to  go  home  to  Hawk's 
Nest  while  the  damage  to  his  place  was  being  re- 
paired, had  been  staying  in  Brighton.  He  was  still 
there,  and  the  letter  had  been  forwarded  by  the 
repentant  and  forgiven  Davis  (who  owned  that  he 
lit  a  pipe,  throwing 'down  the  match,  before  leaving 
the  bungalow). 

Dan  offered  his  sympathy,  especially  regarding  the 
loss  of  the  manuscript.  He  had  only  just  heard 
about  the  fire  from  Mr.  Burns. 

"It  is  hard  luck!"  he  wrote.  "If  my  'Madonna' 
had  been  so  destroyed,  I  should  have  felt  just 
suicidal.  My  'Madonna' !  ah !  it  is  to  bring  my  good 
fortune!  Sir  Edwin  Buckland  has  seen  it,  and 
declares  it  will  not  only  be  hung  in  the  Academy, 
but  will  cause  a  sensation.  He  has  a  big  voice  in 
the  hanging  committee,  as  you  know,  so  I  am  confi- 
dent— I  think  justly.  But  it  is  not  fair  to  flaunt 
my  happiness  in  your  face,  when  you  must  be  so 
down  in  the  dumps.  I  wish  I  could  say  something  to 
really  cheer  you,  old  man !  The  only  thing  I  can  think 
of  is  that  you  are  getting  a  rattling  good  advertise- 
ment out  of  the  business.  I  have  seen  any  number  of 

258 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  259 

sympathetic  'pars.'  How  strange  that  you  never  dis- 
covered the  origin  of  the  fire.  I  expect  Davis  dropped 
a  lighted  match  on  the  rug  and  it  smouldered. 

"I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Alvin,  and, 
oddly  enough,  he  makes  no  reference  to  the  fire, 
though  Mr.  Burns  tells  me  Alvin  extinguished  it. 

"Poor  Mr.  Burns!  he  is  getting  some  awful  re- 
views of  'Wings  and  Winds.'  I  saw  one  that  said  the 
volume  had  certainly  a  good  deal  of  'wind'  about  it, 
but  it  was  difficult  to  discover  the  evidence  of  any 
wings,  for  the  verses  never  mounted,  but  contented 
themselves  with  a  snail-like  crawl.  Rather  too  bad, 
I  think.  I  am  no  judge  of  poetry  myself,  but  I  liked 
some  of  those  Mr.  Burns  showed  to  me.  They 
appealed  by  their  sheer  simplicity.  It  will  be  a  cruel 
disappointment  to  the  poor  fellow ! 

"By  the  way,  I  have  an  invitation  to  spend  a  week- 
end at  the  White  House,  so  hope  to  see  something 
of  you,  for  you  may  be  quite  sure  I  shall  accept  so 
enticing  an  invitation. 

"Shall  I  make  a  confession?  I  think  I  will.  Very 
likely  I  shall  wish  I  had  not  made  such  a  fool  of  my- 
self when  this  letter  is  posted — but  here  goes! 

"I  am  in  love  with  Miss  Le  Breton.  The  fact 
itself  is  natural  enough.  Who  could  be  near  her  as 
I  have  been,  so  intimately,  and  not  worship  her? 
So  beautiful!  so  altogether  alluring!  I  think  she 
likes  me  a  little,  too.  If  she  could  love  me,  I  would 
not  change  with  any  man  upon  this  earth!  but — (oh, 
there  is  a  big  'but') — how  can  such  an  angel  care 
for  a  beggar  like  me?  It  is  a  presumption  even  to  think 
of  it!  Yet  (as  Mr.  Burns  would  quote)  'a  cat  may 
look  at  a  king !'  so  I  may  at  least  look  on  my  divinity, 
worshipping  at  a  distance,  happy  if  she  but  give  me 
one  kindly  glance. 


260  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  can  see  your  lip  curl  in  sarcasm  as  you  read ;  or, 
if  perchance  you  be  in  a  milder  mood,  you  smile 
indulgently  instead. 

"I  never  was  more  astonished  in  my  life  than  when 
I  heard  the  amazing  story  about  Miss  Lane — Mrs. 
Arbuthnot,  I  should  say.  I  really  thought  you  and 
she  were  secretly  engaged.  This  should  be  a  lesson 
to  me  not  to  jump  to  conclusions ! 

"No  wonder  the  poor  little  thing  was  not  looking 
well !  She  must  have  been  fretting  her  heart  out  for 
her  husband.  Mrs.  Barrimore  was  quite  worried  about 
her  when  I  was  at  Hawk's  Nest.  But  you  rather  took 
the  law  into  your  own  hands,  didn't  you?  Didn't 
you  have  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  with  the  old 
Colonel?" 

Philip  read  the  remaining  few  lines  of  the  letter, 
placed  it  in  his  pocket,  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
of  his  sitting-room,  on  the  ground  floor  of  a  house 
half-way  up  Cannon  Place. 

Gloom  faced  him.  It  was  that  dreary  time  just 
before  the  street  lamps  are  lighted. 

He  would  go  out  on  the  sea  front  and  think.  Think 
about  what?  He  knew  too  well. 

Of  course,  Miss  Le  Breton  would  learn  to  love 
sunny  Dan,  even  if  she  did  not  do  so  already.  Alvin 
evidently  favored  the  idea,  or  why  did  he  ask  Dan 
to  spend  a  week-end  at  the  White  House  ? 

As  Philip  strode  down  Cannon  Place,  his  cap  over 
his  eyes,  he  felt  a  sense  of  loneliness  that  was  almost 
torture.  He  realized  with  a  brutal  frankness  which 
came  upon  him  at  times  when  face  to  face  with  him- 
self, that  he  was  not  lovable;  that,  indeed,  there  was 
something  actually  repellent  about  him  at  times. 

Just  now  he  took  a  savage  pleasure  in  dissecting 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  261 

himself.  He  looked  for  faults  as  carefully  as  a  medical 
student  searches  for  nerves  in  a  fat  "subject" 

He  was  fault-finding.  He  wounded  people  reck- 
lessly. He  was  ungrateful  and  overbearing  and 
selfish  and  vain — but  once,  a  pure  young  girl  had 
loved  him,  loved  him  with  all  the  strength  of  a  first 
passion.  To  her  innocent  inexperience  he  had  been 
a  hero,  a  demi-god.  She  lay  in  her  grave  away  in 
Qu'Appelle.  Canada  was  frozen  up  now,  and  the 
great  snows  were  burying  Eweretta  deeper  and 
deeper  still.  Was  she  colder  or  more  lonely  in  her 
prairie  grave  than  he  felt  here  in  gay  Brighton? 
Scarcely. 

He  came  to  the  corner  of  Cannon  Place  and  stood 
looking  into  the  window  of  the  big  jeweller's  shop 
which  is  there.  It  was  brilliantly  lit  now,  and  ex- 
quisite jewels  shone  on  their  satin  and  velvet  beds. 

It  occurred  to  Philip  for  the  first  time  to  wonder 
what  had  become  of  the  jewelry  he  remembered  John 
Alvin  to  have  bought  for  Eweretta  in  Bond  Street. 
They  had  been  pretty  trinkets  and  had  cost  a  good 
deal  of  money.  John  Alvin  had  rather  vulgarly 
boasted  of  the  fact. 

Perhaps  these  trinkets  had  passed  to  Thomas  Alvin 
with  the  rest  on  Eweretta's  death,  and  he  might  have 
turned  them  back  into  money. 

Certainly  Miss  Le  Breton  did  not  seem  to  possess 
any  jewelry.  She  never  wore  any,  at  all  events. 

The  ring  (it  was  a  half-hoop  of  pearls)  which  he — 
Philip — had  given  to  Eweretta,  had  been  sent  back 
to  him  by  Thomas  Alvin. 

The  young  man  had  it  still.  It  was  a  tiny  ring,  too 
small  for  a  woman,  he  had  thought,  but  it  had  slipped 
easily  over  the  third  finger  of  Eweretta's  hand,  when 
he  had  placed  it  there  in  token  of  their  betrothal. 


262  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Miss  Le  Breton's  hands  were  as  small  and  delicate 
as  her  half-sister's. 

Philip  began  to  think  (he  laughed  at  himself 
grimly  for  the  thought)  that  he  should  like  to  see 
Miss  Le  Breton  wearing  Evveretta's  ring. 

Philip  crossed  the  road,  dodging  the  rushing  motor- 
cars, and  walked  along  the  parade  in  the  direction  of 
Hove. 

There  was  a  sea  mist  coming  up,  and  the  air  felt 
raw,  but  at  the  point  opposite  the  Norfolk  Hotel, 
"Blind  Harry"  was  singing  one  of  his  ballads,  play- 
ing a  soft  accompaniment  upon  his  accordeon. 

"Blind  Harry's"  beautiful  voice,  familiar  to  every 
Brightonian,  was  new  to  Philip.  He  had  never  heard 
the  man  sing  before. 

The  music  moved  him  strangely,  and  gave  him  an 
increased  sense  of  loneliness.  Eweretta  used  to  sing 
such  ballads.  She  had  a  low,  sweet  voice  of  a  mar- 
vellous clearness  and  purity — not  unusual  in  Canadian 
singers.  She  sang  without  apparent  effort,  as  "Blind 
Harry"  was  singing  now. 

Philip  placed  a  coin  in  the  blind  man's  little  box, 
and  with  a  choking  sensation  turned  back.  It  was 
high  tide,  and  the  waves  broke  sullenly  upon  the 
shingle. 

"I  can't  stand  this  any  longer,"  Philip  told  him- 
self. "I  must  go  back  to  Hastings.  "1,  who  have  so 
sought  solitude,  feel  now  that  it  will  drive  me  mad! 
I  could  even  put  up  with 'Uncle  Robert's  quotations 
to-night,  rather  than  be  alone." 

Lights  gleamed  from  the  "Metropole"  through  the 
mist. 

"I  will  go  there  and  get  tea,"  decided  Philip.  "It 
is  bright  in  there,  at  any  rate."  And  he  made  his  way 
into  the  lounge.  There  he  saw  to  his  joy  a  man 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  263 

he  knew.  It  was  Dan  Webster's  friend,  Stanley 
Browne. 

"Hallo!  Barrimore!"  cried  Browne.  "Who  would 
have  thought  of  seeing  you!  Where  are  you 
staying?" 

"In  Cannon  Place,"  answered  Philip,  grasping 
Browne's  hand  vigorously.  "Hotels  are  too  noisy 
for  me,  so  I  am  in  rooms.  I  just  looked  in  for  tea 
here." 

"You  drink  tea,  do  you!  you  hardened  reprobate! 
Well,  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  join  you.  Tea 
plays  the  deuce  with  me.  I  am  glad  you  came  in, 
though!  What  are  you  doing  this  evening?  We 
might  go  somewhere  together  if  you  have  no  engage- 
ment." 

"I  have  no  engagement,"  said  Philip,  "and  shall 
be  delighted  to  go  anywhere  you  like — to  something 
frivolous  by  preference.  They  have  tragedies  on  at 
both  theatres,  I  notice." 

"The  Hippodrome,  then?"  suggested  Browne. 

"Yes,  by  all  means!"  agreed  Philip.  "There  is 
always  something  amusing  on  there." 

Browne  ordered  tea  for  his  friend,  and  the  two  men 
found  a  table  near  the  welcome  blaze  of  the  fire  and 
seated  themselves. 

"Seen  Dan  lately?"  asked  Browne. 

"Not  very  lately,"  answered  Philip;  "but  I  had  a 
letter  from  him  to-day." 

"Anything  in  it  about  the  beautiful  'Madonna?'  * 

"A  good  deal." 

"Ah!  I  thought  so.  It  seems  to  me  that  Dan 
has  lost  his  head  over  that  young  woman.  Who  is 
she?" 

Philip  looked  up  from  the  tea-cup  he  had  started 
to  fill,  the  dainty  silver  pot  poised  in  his  hand. 


264  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"That  is  it! — Who  is  she?"  he  said  with  a  queer 
smile.  "I  can  tell  you  who  she  is  said  to  be." 

Browne  eyed  his  friend  a  trifle  anxiously,  and  cast 
a  hasty  glance  round  to  see  if  any  of  the  other  occu- 
pants of  tea-tables  were  noticing. 

Philip  lowered  his  voice  when  he  next  spoke. 

"I  stayed  for  a  night  at  the  White  House  recently 
— the  White  House  is  near  my  bungalow,  and  where 
Dan's  'Madonna'  lives  with  her  mother  and  her 
uncle.  I  had  a  queer  experience  there,  queer  enough 
to  make  a  man  believe  in  the  supernatural — or  (and 
this  is  the  only  alternative)  that  his  reason  is  losing 
balance." 

Browne  was  now  all  eager  attention.  He  was  tre- 
mendously interested  in  psychical  matters. 

"You  know,  Browne,  that  I  was  engaged  to  marry 
a  lovely  Canadian  girl?" 

Browne  nodded  sympathetically. 

"Dan's  'Madonna'  is  her  half-sister.  They  were 
as  alike  as  twins  externally,  but  my  old  love,  Eweretta, 
was  intellectual,  while  her  half-sister  was  said  to  be 
weak-minded.  I  begin  to  think  that  the  weak- 
mindedness  was  an  invention  to  excite  the  father's 
pity.  There  is  no  sign  of  weak-mindedness  about 
Aimee  Le  Breton — that  is  the  'Madonna's'  name. 
Well,  of  course,  the  amazing  likeness  to  her  sister  will 
in  your  opinion  explain  what  I  am  going  to  say  to 
you.  To  me  it  is  not  an  explanation.  It  was  just 
when  I  was  saying  good-bye  to  Miss  Le  Breton  that 
I  swear  to  you  I  saw  her  dead  sister's  soul  looking 
out  of  her  eyes.  I  shall  never  forget  the  experience 
as  long  as  I  live." 

"This  is  enormously  interesting!"  exclaimed 
Browne,  the  psychic  enthusiast.  "You  say  that  Miss 
Le  Breton  was  supposed  to  be  weak-minded.  The 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  265 

bodies  of  such  are  very  easily  entered  by  spirits.  It 
is  more  than  possible  that  you  did  see  the  spirit  of 
your  lost  love." 

"It  is  more  than  possible  that  my  brain  was  not 
normal,"  Philip  observed.  "But  I  have  never  been 
able  to  shake  the  feeling  off.  I  was  so  moved  at  the 
time  that  I  very  nearly  made  a  fool  of  myself.  I 
had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  preventing  myself  from 
catching  the  girl  to  my  heart." 

"There  would  have  been  ructions  with  Dan  if  you 
had!"  Browne  told  him. 

"She  would  not  have  forgiven  me,"  Philip  went  on, 
unheeding  the  interruption.  "She  is  very  different 
from  Eweretta  in  some  ways,  but  at  that  one  moment 
I  say  I  saw  Eweretta's  soul  looking  out  of  her 
eyes." 

"Forgive  me,  now,  for  jumping  in  on  your  most 
inter-es-ting  conversation,"  came  in  a  voice  which 
made  both  men  start. 

The  owner  of  the  voice  was  a  woman  of  about 
forty,  whose  ample  figure  was  adorned  by  an  un- 
doubted Paris  gown. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

A  SUPERNATURAL  HAPPENING 

"I  COULD  not  help  listening,"  the  woman  half 
apologized  with  a  good-humored  smile.  "You  see, 
I  am  so  'dead  nuts'  on  things  psychic,  and  I  can 
tell  you  gentlemen  a  r^-markable  story,  which  may 
interest  you,  and  which  my  husband,  who  is  just  now 
en-joying  a  cocktail,  can  vouch  for.  That  gentle- 
man" (indicating  Philip  with  a  fat,  white  hand 
sparkling  with  jewels),  "thinks  he  saw  his  dead 
sweetheart  looking  out  of  another  woman's  eyes. 
Now,  that  was  a  very  tall  story,  or  would  be  to  some 
people's  thinking,  because  the  second  lady  must  be 
supposed  to  have  a  spirit  of  her  own  to  accommodate 
in  her  body  already.  But  I  can  very  well  believe 
it.  With  your  permission,  I  will  bring  my  cup  to  your 
table.  Fortunately,  everyone  has  left  us  now,  and 
we  can  be  just  comfortable." 

The  two  men  made  a  place  for  the  extraordinary 
woman,  who  sat  down  at  once  in  the  chair  Philip 
offered  her. 

At  first  both  Philip  and  Browne  had  been  disposed 
to  take  offence,  but  the  woman's  daring  won  the 
day. 

"Now,  in  Chicago,  where  we  hail  from,  there  is  a 
family  as  proud  as  Lucifer  because  the  woman's 
grandmother  was  an  English  aristocrat.  This  grand- 
mother used  to  do  most  wonderful  tapestry;  she 
spent  all  her  time  that  way.  When  she  was  dying, 

266 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  267 

she  was  all  the  time  worrying  about  a  piece  she  had 
not  finished,  and  her  last  words  were,  'I  ivill  finish 
it!'" 

She  waited  for  effect. 

"Well,  now,  I'll  go  on  to  the  cow-elusion.  The 
granddaughter  of  this  strong-willed  old  aristocrat 
was  a  very  stupid  girl,  and  all  their  dollars  could 
make  nothing  of  her,  but  she  was  to  take  a  top  seat 
all  the  same.  That  girl,  who  could  not  sew  on  a 
button,  took  and  finished  the  fine  tapestry  her  grand- 
mother had  begun,  and  the  work  was  perfect!  All 
the  family,  even  the  cook  and  the  boot-boy,  came  to 
have  a  look  at  her  working.  They  peeped  through  a 
nick  in  the  door.  And  when  the  work  was  done,  the 
girl  said  she  had  not  done  it,  and  had  never  seen  it; 
and  if  she  had  done  it,  it  must  have  been  in  her  sleep! 
and  from  the  day  the  tapestry  was  finished  she  never 
touched  a  needle!  What  do  you  gentlemen  think  of 
that?  Of  course,  the  grandmother  had  used  the  girl's 
fingers,  and  finished  the  work,  as  she  had  vowed  to 
do  when  she  was  dying." 

The  narrator  of  this  story  was  a  little  disappointed 
in  its  reception,  for  both  Philip  and  Browne  seemed 
to  find  it  funny  merely.  They  laughed  a  good  deal. 

"That  was  a  case  of  the  ruling  passion  strong  after 
death,  wasn't  it?"  asked  Philip. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  death,"  affirmed  the 
lady  with  some  warmth. 

"There  is  something  pretty  disagreeable  called  by 
that  name,  nevertheless,"  commented  Browne. 

"I  guess  that  when  I  am  what  they  call  dead,  I  shall 
know  a  heap  more  than  those  who  are  putting  wreaths 
on  me,"  she  declared.  "But  there  is  my  husband, 
and  we  are  going  out,  so  I  wish  you  both  good- 
bye." 


268  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"What  a  curious  specimen!"  said  Philip,  as  the 
silk  skirts  disappeared  through  the  door.  "You  had 
better  look  out  or  she  will  hang  on  to  you,  as  you  are 
staying  here." 

"She  would,  I  am  sure,"  laughed  Browne;  "but  I 
go  back  to  London  to-morrow  morning." 

"I  go  back  to  Hastings  to-morrow,  too,"  answered 
Philip. 

"Well,  we  will  enjoy  to-night  together,  at  any  rate," 
Browne  concluded. 

It  had  been  a  good  thing  for  Philip  that  he  had 
met  Browne  that  night.  Depression  had  been  playing 
up  with  him  more  than  he  knew. 

He  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  he  had  felt 
so  wretchedly  blue  since  Phyllis  had  gone.  It  was 
certainly  not  the  loss  of  that  erratic  young  woman 
that  had  caused  it.  It  was  certainly  not  the  loss  of 
the  manuscript,  for  he  had  come  to  dislike  the  book 
heartily  since  Miss  Le  Breton  had  not  liked  it.  The 
strained  relations  at  Hawk's  Nest  were  no  new 
thing. 

Philip  was  at  a  loose  end,  and  his  one  desire  was  to 
open  his  heart  to  Dan's  "Madonna." 

But  would  it  be  fair  to  Dan? 

After  all,  there  was  nothing  definite  between  Dan 
and  his  "Madonna" — as  yet.  There  could  be  no 
harm  in  going  to  the  White  House  and  getting  a  little 
comfort  for  himself. 

He  had  quite  forgotten  his  idea  of  making  a  mar- 
riage which  should  help  his  career!  The  man  had 
done  this  in  his  story.  He  now  heartily  despised  that 
man,  who  was  so  unpleasantly  like  himself.  Possibly 
the  self-knowledge  that  had  mysteriously  come  to  him 
had  something  to  do  with  his  depression. 

One   thing  he   decided   during  the   train  joerney 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  269 

home:  He  would  make  himself  agreeable  when  he 
got  there.  If  he  did  not  do  that,  he  could  not  face 
Miss  Le  Breton.  This  was  curious,  as  she  could 
know  nothing  about  it.  But  somehow  he  felt  that  he 
must  improve  himself,  if  he  were  to  come  into  that 
girl's  presence — that  girl!  Dan's  "Madonna!" — and 
Dan  was  invited  to  stay  there.  Dan  was  going. 

Happy  Dan! 

Philip  began  to  pity  himself  as  that  most  unhappy 
of  beings — the  man  who  must  stand  aside  and  look 
upon  another  man's  joy.  Philip  liked  Dan — genuinely 
liked  him.  Dan  had  always  been  a  reliable  friend. 
He  had  put  up  with  moroseness  and  ill-humor.  He 
had  shown  ill-deserved  affection  towards  a  man  few 
liked,  and  many  disliked.  Good  old  Dan!  but  Philip 
envied  him  all  the  same. 

Philip  was  destined  to  see  more  of  Aimee  Le  Breton 
than  he  had  hoped  for.  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  said  to 
Uncle  Robert  after  the  kindness  Alvin  and  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  had  shown  to  her  boy,  "I  ought  to  call  on 
them,  Robert,"  and  he  had  thoroughly  agreed. 

So,  while  Philip  had  been  at  Brighton,  Mrs.  Barri- 
more and  Mr.  Burns  had  driven  over  to  Gissing  and 
made  a  formal  call  at  the  White  House,  and  had  come 
back  nearly  as  much  in  love  with  Aimee  Le  Breton 
as  Dan  was. 

"If  Eweretta  were  like  Miss  Le  Breton — as  we  hear 
she  was,"  Mrs.  Barrimore  had  said  to  her  brother  on 
the  way  home,  "I  no  longer  wonder  that  Philip  was 
so  much  in  love.  She  is  adorable." 

In  which  sentiment  Uucle  Robert  had  agreed.  He 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  she  had  inspired  a  lyric 
which  he  would  write  down  when  he  got  home. 

Neither  Mrs.  Barrimore  nor  Uncle  Robert  had  seen 
Eweretta  during  that  visit  to  London  with  her  father 


270  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

when  Philip  had  fallen  in  love  and  become  engaged 
(of  course,  without  consulting  them!). 

Now,  having  seen  what  Eweretta  had  been  like, 
both  the  mother  and  the  uncle  entirely  exonerated 
Philip  for  the  sudden  engagement  for  which  at  the 
time  they  had  mildly  blamed  him. 

"I  should  have  done  it  myself  at  Philip's  age," 
Uncle  Robert  had  confessed. 

He  furthermore  had  expressed  the  opinion  that  it 
was  quite  impossible  that  Miss  Le  Breton's  mind  had 
ever  been  clouded.  She  was  not  even  neurotic. 
There  had  been  some  big  mistake  or  some  big  decep- 
tion, Mrs.  Barrimore  had  arrived  at  precisely  the 
same  opinion. 

Things  had  developed  so  far  during  Philip's  stay 
in  Brighton  that  when  he  arrived  at  Hawk's  Nest  he 
found  the  White  House  folk  lunching  there. 

He  did  not  enter  the  dining-room  until  he  had  made 
an  unusually  careful  toilet.  This  was  a  new  departure 
for  Philip,  who  had  been  rather  careless  of  his  per- 
sonal appearance  during  the  last  months. 

He  tried  on  three  ties  from  his  bag  before  he  was 
satisfied  with  one.  He  arranged  his  hair  carefully, 
noting  the  while  that  it  wanted  cutting,  and  re- 
gretting that  he  had  not  seen  to  it.  He  shaved, 
although  he  had  already  shaved  that  day,  and 
scrutinized  his  features  in  the  glass,  wondering  if  he 
looked  his  best  clean-shaven.  He  decided  that  he  did. 
His  mouth  was  good,  and  he  needed  not  to  hide  it  by 
a  moustache.  His  chin  was  strong.  Yes,  it  was  by 
no  means  a  bad-looking  face  that  he  saw  reflected  in 
the  glass. 

He  was  glad  that  Colonel  Lane  was  not  of  the 
party.  He  had  ascertained  that  fact  from  the 
parlor-maid.  She  had  told  him  that  Colonel  Lane 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  271 

had  gone  back  to  Dulwich,  as  his  friend  Colonel  Hen- 
derson had  had  a  relapse. 

When  quite  satisfied  with  his  appearance,  Philip 
went  down  to  the  dining-room,  where  the  tender 
mother  was  of  course  the  first  to  welcome  her  boy. 
Her  loving  arms  were  about  him  the  moment  he  en- 
tered the  room.  Her  heart  harbored  no  resentment 
for  his  cold  and  even  cruel  behavior  when  he  had 
parted  with  her.  He  did  not  forget,  however,  and  a 
flush  of  genuine  shame  came  to  his  face  as  he  remem- 
bered his  words  to  her,  "Women  never  know  when  a 
man  wants  to  be  left  alone." 

He  had  now  had  quite  enough  of  being  left  alone. 
Never  for  months  had  he  greeted  his  mother  so 
affectionately,  and  to  his  credit  be  it  recorded,  that 
it  was  not  done  because  the  eyes  of  the  woman  with 
whom  he  wanted  to  "stand  well,"  were  upon 
him. 

When  the  mother,  radiant,  and  with  one  of  those 
lovely  blushes  on  her  cheek,  had  gone  -back  to  her 
seat;  when  Mrs.  Le  Breton,  Mr.  Alvin  and  "Aimee" 
had  been  duly  greeted,  and  Uncle  Robert  had  made 
Philip's  hand  tingle  by  a  hearty  grip,  Philip  took  his 
place  with  the  rest. 

"It  is  good  to  be  home,"  he  said. 

"  'East  or  West,  home's  best/ "'  quoted  Uncle 
Robert. 

"  'And  what  is  Home  without  a  Mother  ?' "  said 
Philip,  with  an  affectionate  glance  in  Mrs.  Barri- 
more's  direction. 

"Who  is  quoting  now?"  cried  Uncle  Robert, 
beaming.  "Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Le  Breton,"  he  went 
on,  "my  quotations  drove  that  young  man  from 
home!  He  couldn't  stand  them.  They  got  on  his 
nerves." 


272  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  think  I  got  on  everyone's  nerves,"  said  Philip. 
"I  begin  to  see  that  I  am  an  intolerant  beast." 

Uncle  Robert  stared.  What  had  come  over  Philip  ? 
The  Brighton  air  seemed  to  have  performed  miracles. 

Eweretta  dropped  her  table-napkin  and  stooped  to 
pick  it  up,  but  it  was  not  the  stooping  that  flushed  her 
pale  cheek. 

She  did  not  once  look  at  Philip  till  the  meal  was 
ended. 

But  Philip  looked  at  her  more  than  once. 

She  was  wearing  a  black  felt  hat,  wide  in  the  brim, 
on  which  was  a  wonderful  white  ostrich  feather. 
Philip  decided  that  black  and  white  was  by  far  the 
most  becoming  combination.  Eweretta,  he  remem- 
bered, had  dressed  less  quietly,  though  in  perfect  good 
taste. 

The  guests  left  soon  after  luncheon,  and  Alvin 
offered  to  give  Philip  a  "lift"  home.  But  Philip, 
thanking  him,  said  he  wanted  to  stay  a  day  or  two 
with  his  mother. 

It  was  then  that  Philip  once  more  saw  Eweretta 
looking  out  of  the  eyes  of  Miss  Le  Breton. 

Again  the  sudden  impulse  to  take  the  girl  to  his 
heart  had  to  be  suppressed.  The  impulse  this  time 
was  so  strong  that  Philip  wondered  afterwards  that 
he  had  been  able  to  resist  it,  even  though  others  were 
by. 


CHAPTER  XL 

MOTHER     AND     SON 

PHILIP  stayed  for  a  whole  week  at  Hawk's  Nest, 
Davis  had  brought  Soda  over,  and  Philip  had  ridden 
over  once  or  twice  to  look  at  the  bungalow. 

It  had  been  an  ideal  week  to  Mrs.  Barrimore,  for 
Philip  had  shown  her  so  much  affection.  Philip  had 
always  had  a  deep  love  for  his  mother,  even  when  he 
had  wounded  her,  but  in  this  week  he  had  not  hurt 
her  once,  nor  had  he  hurt  Uncle  Robert.  Regarding 
this  latter  he  had  "influenced''  a  review  of  "Wings 
and  Winds,"  which  had  given  the  author  the  greatest 
pleasure.  Philip  had  something  to  bear  on  this  count,, 
for  Uncle  Robert  flaunted  the  review  in  his  face, 
declaring  that  here  was  a  reviewer — on  a  good  paper, 
too! — who  did  not  take  Philip's  view  of  the  verses. 

But  Philip  took  all  this  well.  He  must  behave  so 
as  to  gain  Miss  Le  Breton's  good  opinion.  She  would 
know  nothing  of  all  this,  yet  he  felt  that  she  would 
read  him  when  next  they  met,  with  those  searching 
eyes  of  hers.  She  would  know  he  was  trying  to  im- 
prove himself. 

Dan  had  called  in  to  see  them,  full  of  high  spirits, 
when  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  White  House,  and 
Philip  had  felt  a  great  dejection  come  over  him.  Dan 
must  be  pretty  sure  of  his  ground,  or  he  would  not 
be  in  such  high  spirits. 

Another  thing  had  happened  during  this  week. 
Colonel  Henderson  had  passed  away. 

273 


274  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Uncle  Robert,  who  was  as  full  of  impulse  as  his 
nephew,  in  his  own  way,  had  insisted  on  Mrs.  Hender- 
son and  the  two  boys,  Will  and  Eric,  coming  to 
Hawk's  Nest. 

"The  boys  shall  go  to  Brighton  College,"  he  said, 
"and  then  to  Sandhurst.  There  is  no  one  to  interfere, 
for  I  got  Lane  to  see  that  Henderson  made  a  will 
leaving  me  guardian — that  is,  joint-guardian  with 
him — which  means  that  I  shall  have  a  free  hand." 

Philip  at  this  time  had  ample  opportunity  of  study- 
ing his  uncle's  character  afresh,  and  he  decided  that 
the  old  fellow  on  whom  he  had  often  looked  with 
something  very  nearly  approaching  contempt  was  one 
of  the  noblest  men  he  had  ever  known.  The  joy, 
which  brimmed  over,  in  rinding  an  outlet  for  his  un- 
selfish kindliness  was  a  thing  to  remember. 

"There  is  the  room  that  Dan  used  to  paint  in, 
Annie!"  spluttered  Uncle  Robert,  his  words  tumbling 
over  each  other  in  his  excitement.  "The  boys  could 
have  that  for  a  play-room.  I  can  get  some  tools, 
and  some  wood,  and  a  lathe — we  should  not  hear  the 
lathe  much  up  there.  The  big  cupboard  with  drawers 
underneath  would  be  very  handy  for  the  boys. 
Mrs.  Henderson  can  have  the  other  big  attic  to  stow 
away  her  furniture  if  she  wishes  to  keep  it.  It  is  a 
ramshackle  lot,  Lane  says,  but  still,  she  may  like  to 
keep  it.  Women  get  attached  to  these  things.  Mrs. 
Henderson  should  have  a  room  for  herself  with  a 
south  aspect.  What  a  good  thing  Hawk's  Nest  is 
so  roomy!" 

Philip  saw  all  these  preparations  going  on,  and 
saw  that  his  mother  went  hand  and  glove  with  his 
uncle  in  the  matter.  He  marvelled  that  she,  with  her 
dainty  ways,  should  be  so  willing  to  suffer  such  an 
invasion  of  her  home.  Will  and  Eric  the  Colonel  had 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  275 

called  "destroying  angels,"  and  Mrs.  Henderson,  by 

his   accounts,    was    a   broken-hearted    creature,    who 

would  be  a  very  wet  blanket. 

true  brother  and  sister.    Both  were  always  forgetting 

self. 

All  at  once  (it  had  been  when  Philip  had  noticed  his 
mother  trying  to  smooth  out  the  lovely  natural  wave 
of  her  hair)  Philip  began  to  actually  realize  that  he — 
yes,  he,  in  his  domineering  arrogance,  had  closed  the 
door  of  happiness  to  his  beautiful  mother.  Her  youth- 
ful aspect  struck  her  son  more  forcibly  than  ever  in 
the  plain  gown  she  had  affected,  he  knew,  just  to 
meet  his  wishes.  Her  charming  figure  was  empha- 
sized by  the  plain,  well-fitting  bodice. 

Philip  felt  guilty  as  he  watched  his  mother  smooth- 
ing her  hair.  It  seemed  to  him  he  was  always  feeling 
guilty  lately. 

"Mother,"  he  said  abruptly,  as  he  fingered  the 
pretty  silver  objects  on  her  toilet  table.  (He  had 
strolled  into  her  room  and  seated  himself  on  a  chintz- 
covered  chair  while  she  got  ready  to  go  out  with 
him.)  "Mother,  don't  brush  that  wave  out.  I  like 
it.  It  is  so  pretty." 

"You  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  laughing  and  blush- 
ing; "but  you  know  you  think  it  almost  a  crime  for 
the  mother  of  a  grown-up  son  to  look  pretty !" 

"I  think,"  affirmed  Philip  humbly,  "that  I  have  been 
a  dictatorial  ass.  I  must  have  made  you  very  un- 
happy often,  mother.  Can  you  forgive  me?" 

She  turned  shining  eyes  upon  him,  eyes  that  had 
never  looked  but  in  love  upon  him  from  the  time  when 
he  had  first  lain  upon  her  breast.  She  had  been  almost 
a  child  herself,  then. 

"You  are  my  own  boy,"  she  said.  "There  can  never 
be  any  question  of  forgiving  between  us." 


276  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

She  laughed  a  little,  though,  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 
"I  am  afraid  I  do  look  absurdly  young,  Philip,  and 
I  feel  young,  which  is  more.  I  don't  think  I  really 
felt  so  young  when  I  was  Annie  Burns." 

Philip  passed  an  arm  about  her  as  he  kissed  her 
cheek. 

"It  would  be  hard  to  lose  you,  mother,"  he  told 
her. 

"Silly  boy!    Do  I  look  like  dying?"  she  asked. 

"I  did  not  mean  that,"  he  rejoined.  Then  he 
ceased  abruptly. 

She  went  to  the  big  wardrobe  that  occupied  almost 
the  entire  side  of  her  room.  She  was  going  to  choose 
a  hat  to  put  on. 

"Put  on  a  pretty  one,"  said  Philip.  "And,  mother, 
why  don't  you  have  a  black  one  with  a  big  white 
ostrich  feather?  I  think  that  looks  A  i." 

She  glanced  at  him  sharply.  She  recalled  at  once 
with  a  pang  the  wearer  of  the  hat  her  son  was  think- 
ing of.  She  knew  of  Dan's  infatuation  for  Miss  Le 
Breton. 

Surely — surely  her  beloved  boy  was  not  going  to 
suffer  a  second  martyrdom!  That  would  be  too 
cruel.  Aimee  Le  Breton  was  not  only  a  very  beau- 
tiful and  charming  woman,  but  she  was  like  Eweretta. 
It  was  fearfully  possible  that  Philip  should  fall  in 
love  with  her,  and  that  he  should  discover  that  she 
loved  Dan  Webster.  Alvin,  too,  appeared  to  be 
encouraging  Dan. 

Oh,  it  would  be  too  sad !  too  horribly  cruel ! 

She  stood  with  the  hat  she  had  chosen  to  wear  in 
her  hand,  and  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"You  don't  answer,  mother,"  persisted  Philip. 
"Did  you  not  like  Miss  Le  Breton's  hat?  I  found  it 
charming." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  277 

"Yes,  dear,  I  did  admire  it  very  much,"  she  an- 
swered, as  she  came  to  the  toilet  table  in  quest  of 
hatpins. 

"And  Miss  Le  Breton,  do  you  admire  her?"  de- 
manded Philip. 

"Exceedingly,"  answered  the  mother.  "I  think," 
she  added,  inflicting  a  wound  to  save  a  greater,  "I 
think  we  shall  hear  of  an  engagement  between  her 
and  Dan  soon.  Dan  is,  of  course,  in  love  with  her, 
and  she  seems  fond  of  him." 

Philip  had  already  known  and  fully  realized  this, 
but  somehow  his  mother's  words  stung  him  to  the 
quick. 

Why?  he  asked  himself.  What  difference  could  it 
make  to  him,  since  he  was  altogether  out  of  the 
running? 

Miss  Le  Breton  had  been  kind  to  him,  but  if  there 
were  no  Dan,  he  felt  she  would  not  be  one  inch  nearer 
to  him — Philip.  Still,  he  was  free  to  admire — even 
to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  Dan's  Madonna  at  a  dis- 
creet distance.  Even  Dan  could  not  object  to  that! 

As  for  Dan,  he  had  "gone  up  like  a  rocket,  to  come 
down  like  a  stick,"  as  he  told  his  sister  Isabel. 

But  Philip  knew  nothing  of  this,  nor  did  he  for 
many  a  day. 

Philip  got  an  idea  for  a  new  book  while  he  was 
walking  with  his  mother  on  the  sea-front,  and  he 
delighted  his  mother  by  talking  it  out  with  her — a 
thing  he  had  never  done  before. 

She,  dear  woman!  was  all  admiration  and  sym- 
pathy, though  Philip's  outlined  plot  was  not  very 
clear  to  her. 

Of  course,  it  would  be  a  fine  book — quite  Philip's 
best! 


CHAPTER  XLI 

A  TESTIMONIAL  TO  MISS  LINKIN 

MRS.  WEBSTER  and  Miss  Linkin  had  been  much  upset 
by  Dan's  going  to  the  White  House.  Of  course,  it 
could  have  but  one  meaning.  That  "Canadian  minx" 
had  laid  snares  for  him.  They  would  certainly  lose 
their  Dan.  Equally,  of  course,  the  marriage  would 
be  most  unhappy. 

"Why?"  Isabel  had  asked  when  Aunt  Lizzie  had 
ventilated  this  opinion. 

"Can  the  leopard  mate  with  the  lamb?"  Miss  Lin- 
kin  had  solemnly  demanded,  and  Isabel  had  burst 
forth  into  amused  and  aggravating  laughter. 

"I  don't  see  the  connection,"  she  had  said. 

But  when  Dan  returned  from  his  visit,  he  looked 
so  utterly  dejected,  that  his  mother  and  aunt  took 
heart  at  once.  It  was  only  Isabel  who  looked  troubled 
and  concerned. 

As  soon  as  an  oppressive  meal  was  ended,  Isabel 
followed  her  brother  to  his  studio. 

"What  is  it,  Dan?"  she  asked  anxiously,  when 
Dan  had  lit  the  gas  fire,  and  drawn  up  two  wicker 
chairs. 

"Can't  you  guess,  Isabel?"  he  groaned. 

"I  think  so,  dear,  but  is  it  inevitable?" 

"Quite." 

"Yet — one  never  knows — a  woman  sometimes  says 
'No'  when  she  means  'Yes.' ' 

"But  not  a  woman  like  Aimee  Le  Breton." 
278 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  279 

"I  made  too  sure,"  said  Dan  miserably.  "I  went 
tip  like  a  rocket — and  I  have  come  down  like  a  stick. 
Of  course,  she  is  miles  too  good  for  me.  I  knew  that 
all  along." 

"Is  there  someone  else?"  asked  Isabel. 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Dan.  "She  is  not  going  to 
marry.  Oh!  she  is  just  the  sort  of  woman  to  remain 
a  virgin — so  pure — so  beautiful.  Our  Blessed  Lady 
must  have  had  a  look  like  hers.  Oh,  if  you  could 
have  seen  her! — her  sweet  compassion,  her  sublime 
dignity.  She  is  not  for  me,  or  for  any  man.  What 
a  blind  fool  I  was !  And  I  gave  her  pain.  I  saw  that 
she  suffered  to  see  me  suffer.  I  ought  to  have  known 
— yes,  I  certainly  ought  to  have  spared  her.  I  had 
a  sense  of  having  committed  sacrilege  in  offering 
myself  to  her.  That  was  how  I  felt  about  it,  how  I 
shall  always  feel  about  it.  There  are  women  who 
are  like  angels,  and  to  ask  such  to  marry  is  a  sacrilege. 
She — Miss  Le  Breton — is  the  kind  of  woman  who 
becomes  a  nun,  and  I  was  too  blind  to  see  it,  though 
I,  of  all  people,  ought  to  have  known  it,  for  I  painted 
her  very  soul  in  my  Madonna.  But  I  do  not  regret 
having  met  her,  though  it  has  well-nigh  broken  my 
heart.  I  shall  be  a  better  man  for  having  known  such 
a  beautiful,  pure  nature.  For  her  sake  I  shall  live 
purely,  and  strive  for  ideals.  That  she  has  done  for 
me.  So,  sister  mine,  don't  shed  tears." 

Isabel  was  crying. 

But  in  the  sitting-room  MissLinkinwastriumphant. 

"She  has  refused  him!"  she  cried  exultantly  to  her 
sister. 

"What  a  deliverance!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Webster 
devoutly.  "Give  me  my  nux  vomica,  Lizzie;  and  do 
see  that  my  hot-water  bottle  is  hot  to-night.  Mary 
Ann  does  not  boil  the  water.  I  am  sure  of  it!  Yes, 


28o  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

it  is  a  deliverance!  I  think  that  Dan  might  wait  till 
his  poor  mother  is  underground  before  wanting  to 
marry.  It  won't  be  long,  anyway." 

"Creaking  doors  hang  the  longest,  Maria,"  replied 
Miss  Linkin.  "You've  been  a  poor  creature  ever  since 
Isabel  was  born,  and  you  are  not  gone  yet!" 

"That  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it!"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Webster.  "I'm  nearing  my  three-score  years 
and  ten — the  allotted  time  of  man." 

"You  never  were  any  good  at  arithmetic,  Maria," 
retorted  her  sister,  nodding  and  making  the  cork- 
screw curls  dance.  "You  were  fifty-four  last  birth- 
day." 

"That  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it,"  again 
asserted  Mrs.  Webster.  "Keep  to  the  point,  Lizzie. 
Dan  might  wait  for  a  wife  till  his  mother  is  gone. 
What  does  he  want  with  a  wife?  He  has  a  comfort- 
able home — well  looked  after." 

The  last  clause  had  the  effect  of  putting  Miss 
Linkin  in  a  good  humor.  There  were  times — a  great 
many  times — when  Mrs.  Webster  irritated  her.  Mrs. 
Webster  had  never  been  much  of  a  housekeeper  even 
in  her  days  of  health,  while  her  sister  had  a  born  gift 
that  way.  She  had  a  born  gift,  too,  for  industry. 
She  was  never  a  moment  idle.  At  this  particular 
moment  she  was  putting  fine  darns  into  a  damask 
table-cloth,  which,  under  Mrs.  Webster's  regime, 
would  have  long  since  been  consigned  to  the  rag- 
bag. 

"Yes,  Maria,"  said  Miss  Linkin.  "Dan's  home 
may  not  be  exactly  luxurious,  but  it  is  well  kept,  and 
Dan  is  .certainly  getting  on.  He  has  earned  quite  a 
lot  of  money  with  his  portraits,  and  has  a  lot  of 
commissions." 

"That   is   all   very   well,    Lizzie,"    broke   in   Mrs. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  281 

Webster  querulously,  "but  Dan's  eyes  may  go  wrong 
again." 

"You  always  were  a  prophet  of  evil,  Maria," 
snapped  Miss  Linkin,  whom  the  last  remark  had  irri- 
tated. "You  never  see  the  bright  side  of  anything." 

"What  a  wicked  untruth!"  rejoined  Mrs.  Webster. 
"Didn't  I  see  the  bright  side  of  Dan's  disappoint- 
ment?" 

"Oh,  that!"  replied  her  sister  scornfully. 

"And  now  I  suppose  we  shall  have  Dan  moping 
about  the  place  making  everybody  miserable.  I 
have  no  patience  with  that  kind  of  thing.  People 
ought  to  consume  their  own  smoke.  I  am  sure  this 
horrible  November  weather  gets  into  my  joints  most 
distressingly.  If  Dan  had  not  gone  in  for  Art,  he 
might  have  had  enough  money  by  now  for  me  to 
winter  in  the  South  of  France.  There  is  an  awful 
draught  from  that  window  when  the  door  is  open, 
and  Mary  Ann  leaves  it  open  every  time  she  comes 
in." 

"It  wants  a  new  lock,"  said  Miss  Linkin.  "Dan 
says  I  can  have  it  seen  to." 

"I  think,  considering  my  health,  it  might  have  been 
seen  to  before,"  Mrs.  Webster  complained,  "and  my 
chair  is  just  opposite  the  door." 

"Well,  why  not  have  your  chair  moved  to  the  other 
side?"  inquired  Miss  Linkin,  not  unnaturally. 

"I  am  used  to  this  side  of  the  fireplace,"  said  Mrs. 
Webster.  "People  at  my  time  of  life  don't  like 
changes.  I  want  to  go  to  the  South  of  France." 

"You  just  said  you  didn't  like  changes,"  her  sister 
reminded  her. 

"That  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it,"  replied  Mrs. 
Webster  conclusively. 

Miss  Linkin  sniffed. 


282  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Mrs.  Webster  glanced  at  the  clock  over  the  mantel- 
piece and  remarked : 

"Dan  and  Isabel  'have  been  away  in  that  studio 
three-parts  of  an  hour.  I  must  say,  my  children  are 
not  much  comfort  to  me!  You  would  have  thought 
that  Dan  would  have  tried  to  entertain  me  a  little 
after  being  away  enjoying  himself;  but  no,  he  must 
needs  go  to  that  studio  with  Isabel.  My  company  is 
not  sufficiently  entertaining,  I  suppose." 

At  that  very  moment  Dan  came  in,  followed  by 
Isabel.  He  was  making  a  valiant  effort  to  appear 
cheerful. 

"Oh,  please  close  the  door,  Dan!"  were  Mrs. 
Webster's  first  words.  Then  as  he  was  about  to 
obey  she  added:  "But  never  mind!  I  am  just  going 
to  bed." 

"But  you  don't  usually  go  to  bed  so  early,"  said 
Dan.  "I  hope  you  are  not  feeling  less  well?" 

"I  am  never  well,"  replied  his  mother. 

"But  not  worse  to-night,  I  hope  ?"  said  Dan,  pulling 
up  a  chair  near  her. 

"More  tired — tired  of  waiting,"  she  answered. 

"Waiting?  Do  you  mean  for  us?"  asked  Dan.  "I 
am  so  sorry.  If  I  had  had  an  idea " 

"That  is  just  it,  Dan.  Modern  sons  and  daughters 
never  seem  to  have  an  idea.  When  your  Aunt  Lizzie 
and  I  were  girls,  we  were  devoted  to  our  parents." 

Dan  looked  troubled. 

Isabel  spoke: 

"Oh,  don't  talk  like  that,  mother!  No  son  could 
be  more  devoted  than  Dan!" 

"That  is  your  way  of  looking  at  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Webster.  "Dan  has  been  with  you  nearly  an  hour, 
and  he  comes  to  sit  with  his  mother  just  at  bed- 
time." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  283 

Miss  Linkin  jerkily  folded  up  her  work,  remarking 
something  about  "silly  nonsense." 

"Don't  go  to  bed  yet,  mother,"  said  Dan,  ignoring 
her  reproaches.  "I  want  to  tell  you  about  my  visit 
to  Gissing.  It  will  amuse  you." 

"I  am  past  being  amused,"  said  Mrs.  Webster. 
"When  I  die  I  should  like  to  be  buried  where " 

"Oh,  for  the  Lord's  sake !"  broke  out  Dan. 

"Well,  Dan !"  said  Mrs.  Webster,  "all  I  can  say  is, 
that  you  Catholics  are  shockingly  profane." 

"Dear  mother,  let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  said 
Dan.  "For  instance,  the  drives  you  are  going  to  have. 
I  can  afford  them  now,  and  you  must  go  out  and  get 
the  air." 

"November  air!  Dulwich  November  air!  How 
can  you  talk  of  it,  Dan!  This  part  of  the  village  is 
full  of  damp  and  fog,"  Mrs.  Webster  complained 
ungraciously.  "If  I  could  be  in  the  South  of 
France " 

"I  wonder  if  it  could  be  managed?"  said  Dan. 
"We  must  go  into  figures.  I  don't  see  why  you 
couldn't  go." 

"But  I  should  have  to  take  your  Aunt  Lizzie  to 
look  after  me,  and  there  would  be  no  one  to  take  care 
of  the  house.  If  Isabel  had  not  been  so  obstinate 
about  doing  school  work  she  might  have  attended  to 
her  mother." 

"You  are  tired  and  ill,  or  you  would  not  talk  so, 
mother,"  Dan  told  her.  "You  know  how  pluckily 
Isabel  went  out  to  earn,  because  I  made  so  little.  But 
she  need  not  now." 

Isabel  intervened. 

"I  shall  not  leave  the  James  Allen,  Dan,  however 
much  you  get  on.  I  like  my  independence  too  well 
to  give  it  up.  Moreover,  Aunt  Lizzie  looks  after 


284  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

mother  far  better  than  I  could.  There  is  no  reason 
why  mother  and  Aunt  Lizzie  should  not  go  to  the 
South  of  France  if  you  can  manage  it.  Mary  Ann  can 
look  after  us  well  enough." 

Mrs.  Webster  began  to  shed  tears  at  this  point. 

"It  is  hard  that  my  children  should  want  to  get 
rid  of  me,  and  banish  me  to  a  foreign  land,"  she  said 
in  a  faltering  voice.  "You  both  want  to  get  me  far 
away.  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  a  trouble.  The  house 
would  be  a  lot  brighter  without  me.  Let  me  go, 
and  if  my  bones  have  to  be  laid  in  a  foreign  soil,  I 
suppose  it  won't  much  matter,  though  I  have  picked 
the  spot  in  Norwood  Cemetery  where  I  would  desire 
to  be  laid." 

"Maria!  come  to  bed!" 

Miss  Linkin  spoke  with  some  severity. 

Mrs.  Webster  rpse,  obedient  to  the  voice  of  her 
sister,  and  walked  with  bent  head  towards  the  door. 

"Your  Aunt  Lizzie  is  the  only  one  who  troubles 
much  about  me,"  she  said,  as  she  quitted  the  room 
without  even  a  good-night  to  her  children. 

"Take  care,  Maria,  how  you  walk.  You  are  tread- 
ing on  the  front  of  your  dress,"  Miss  Linkin  said  in  a 
loud  voice,  as  the  sisters  mounted  the  staircase. 

Dan  and  Isabel  exchanged  despairing  glances. 

The  scene  which  had  just  been  enacted  was 
not  new  to  them.  A  little  real  ill-health,  and  a 
great  deal  of  imaginary  ill-health,  had  made  Mrs. 
Webster  a  most  unreasonable  and  aggravating  woman. 
Yet  both  Isabel  and  Dan  knew  that  she  loved  them 
both. 

"It  is  poor  Aunt  Lizzie  who  has  most  to  bear," 
said  Isabel  to  her  brother.  "Both  you  and  I  get 
away  from  it  all.  But  Aunt  Lizzie  'has  it  night  and 
day  and  every  night  and  every  day.  Aunt  Lizzie 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  285 

ought  to  have  no  purgatory,  she  has  had  it  here.  I 
could  never  put  up  with  it  without  a  break  as  she 
does.  I  can't  help  admiring  her.  She  never  varies. 
Every  day  she  goes  through  her  self-imposed  tasks. 
She  has  nothing  whatever  to  brighten  her  drab  life, 
and  she  never  grumbles.  I  don't  think  any  of  us  know 
quite  what  a  heroine  she  has  been  through  the  years." 
"Quite  true,"  agreed  Dan.  "We  can  all  be  patient 
and  heroic  by  fits  and  starts,  but  Aunt  Lizzie  keeps 
on  being  patient  and  heroic.  She  puts  some  of  us 
to  shame." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

HOW  REPUTATIONS  ARE  RUINED 

Miss  LE  BRETON  began  to  be  a  much-talked-of  young 
woman  in  Hastings,  and  even  Bexhill,  on  account  of 
her  wonderful  horsemanship.  She,  with  her  uncle, 
had  gone  to  the  first  meet  of  the  Bexhill  Harriers,  and 
her  portrait  on  her  splendid  mare  Black  Bess  had  got 
into  the  Hastings  and  St.  Leonards  Pictorial  Adver- 
tiser. People  began  to  leave  cards  at  the  White 
House,  but  disappointment  awaited  them — especially, 
perhaps,  the  men — for  Mr.  Alvin  made  it  well  under- 
stood that  they  wished  to  live  a  quiet  and  retired  life, 
and  the  calls,  with  the  exception  of  the  Barrimores' 
and  the  Picketts',  were  not  returned. 

But  no  one  had  a  word  to  say  against  Thomas 
Alvin,  for  he  was  found  to  be  most  liberal  to  local 
charities. 

Alvin  never  gave  anything,  however,  without  con- 
sulting his  niece.  "The  money  is  yours,  not  mine," 
he  would  say  to  her.  But  she  would  answer:  "Ours, 
uncle." 

In  these  days  Alvin  was  happier  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  all  his  ill-starred  life.  But  he  often  suffered 
acutely.  There  were  days  when  he  never  emerged 
from  the  little  wood  where  no  one  but  himself  ever 
entered.  He  could  not  forgive  himself  for  the  crime 
he  had  committed,  though  his  victim  had  forgiven  him. 

He  was  now  much  troubled  about  Eweretta.  She 
had  refused  Dan  Webster's  offer,  and  she  had  told 

286 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  287 

him  in  so  many  words  that  she  no  longer  loved  Philip. 
What  was  to  become  of  her  when  he  and  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  were  gone? 

She  would  have  money,  certainly,  but  Alvin  wanted 
for  her  to  be  a  happy  wife  and  mother.  It  was  at 
her  instigation  that  he  had  discouraged  callers.  How 
would  she  meet  with  a  man  she  could  marry  if  she 
insisted  upon  isolation? 

He  had  noticed  again  and  again — notably  at  that 
first  meet  of  the  Bexhill  Harriers — how  much  ad- 
miration she  had  excited.  But  she  was  firm  in  her 
resolve. 

"I  am  quite  happy,  uncle,"  she  would  say. 

She  spoke  the  truth,  for  though  she  felt  that  her 
romance  of  love  was  over,  and  that  Philip  had  resigned 
himself  to  the  loss  of  the  girl  he  had  once  so  pas- 
sionately loved,  still,  she  had  the  joy  of  seeing  Philip 
become  more  the  old  Philip  of  her  love.  He  was  con- 
quering that  hardness,  that  care  for  social  advance- 
ment, which  had  so  spoiled  him.  She  had  a  curious 
feeling  that  she  was  indeed  dead,  and  was  watching 
Philip  from  another  world.  Perhaps  she  might  help 
him.  She  had  first  found  the  pure  joy  that  being  a 
helper  brings,  in  seeing  Mrs.  Le  Breton  become  more 
cheerful  under  her  influence.  Mrs.  Le  Breton  had  had 
an  utterly  hopeless  expression  in  the  first  months,  but 
now  she  could  even  laugh. 

Then  Eweretta  had  helped  Alvin.  She  was  always 
on  the  look-out  for  him  after  one  of  his  days  shut  up 
in  the  little  wood. 

He  was  sure  of  finding  her  at  the  gate  that  led  from 
the  wood  to  the  garden,  even  though  November  mists 
lay  thick  about  the  bushes.  She  would  slip  her  arm 
through  the  rough  Colonial's  and  tell  him  she  had 
missed  him. 


288  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

What  this  meant  to  the  ill-starred  Thirteenth  Man 
he  alone  knew,  nor  did  he  himself  realize  to  the 
full. 

Eweretta  was  the  first  woman  who  had  ever  cared 
for  him  or  seen  any  good  in  him.  Sometimes  he  suf- 
fered a  kind  of  agony  of  dumbness.  He  longed  so 
much  to  make  her  understand  how  he  worshipped  her, 
and  no  words  seemed  worth  anything.  He  would 
gladly  have  died  to  give  her  a  happiness.  All  the  love 
which  had  found  no  object  during  his  whole  life  till 
he  had  known  Eweretta  concentrated  now  on  the 
beautiful  girl — the  girl  he  had  so  wronged. 

One  day — it  was  after  one  of  those  retreats  to  the 
little  wood — Alvin  told  Eweretta  that  his  wrong  to 
her  had  given  him  "hell." 

"Don't  let  it  do  so  any  more,  dear  uncle,"  she  said. 
"So  much  good  has  come  out  of  evil.  But  for  that 
wrong  I  should  not  have  had  your  love  and  poor  Mrs. 
Le  Breton's.  You  would  never  have  found  out  how 
much  I  love  you,  and  Mrs.  Le  Breton  would  have 
pined  away  alone  in  the  prairie." 

"But  you  lost  your  lover,"  he  reminded  her. 

She  gave  one  of  those  mystical  smiles  which  had 
moved  Dan  so  much. 

"I  lost  the  Philip  that  was,"  she  said.  "Had  he 
married  me,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he  not 
thought  me  dead,  we  might  not  have  been  happy. 
Philip  had  passion  for  me;  it  remained  to  be  proved  if 
that  passion  would  ever  become  steady  love." 

"But  we  know  now  that  there  was  nothing  at  all 
between  him  and  Miss  Lane,"  Alvin  said.  "You 
thought  them  lovers." 

"My  instinct  played  me  false  there,"  acknowledged 
Eweretta.  "But  you  heard  the  sentiments  expressed 
in  the  book." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  289 

"You  mean  about  the  man  deciding  to  marry  a 
woman  who  would  help  him  socially  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Eweretta.  "The  man  in  Philip's 
book  placed  a  literary  success  before  love." 

"That  book  is  burned,"  Alvin  reminded  her. 

"Yes,  and  more  was  burned  with  it,  I  suspect,"  she 
replied  enigmatically. 

Eweretta's  helpfulness  was  not  confined  to  the 
White  House.  The  old  priest  at  "St.  Mary,  Star  of 
the  Sea,"  had  only  to  let  Miss  Le  Breton  know  of  a 
sad  case  of  poverty  to  find  it  relieved.  She  never 
appeared  herself  in  such  matters.  She  helped  the 
poor  through  the  old  priest.  Father  Donelli  thought 
Miss  Le  Breton  a  saint.  She  did  not  do  her  good 
works  before  men  to  get  praise  of  them.  She  lived  a 
simple,  pious  life.  She  accused  herself  in  the  Con- 
fessional of  want  of  gratitude  for  a  sorrow  which  had 
come  to  her — of  course,  for  her  good. 

Eweretta  had,  indeed,  struggled  to  thank  God  for 
the  loss  of  her  lover;  she  had  at  one  time  bitterly 
rebelled.  She  had  so  loved  Philip!  The  rebellion 
was  ended,  but  she  had  not  come  yet  to  be  grateful 
to  God  for  the  sorrow,  which  she,  simple  soul  that 
she  was,  felt  that  she  ought  to  do.  The  poor  little 
"saint"  was  very  human! 

One  of  Eweretta's  greatest  admirers  was  Minnie 
Pickett.  She  had  persuaded  Minnie  to  confess  her 
love  affair  with  the  clerk  from  the  gasworks,  and  not 
practise  a  deception  on  her  parents. 

Perhaps  we  never  love  anyone  quite  so  really  as  the 
man  or  woman  who  leads  us  to  abandon  a  fault  or  to 
rise  to  ideals. 

Minnie  loved  Eweretta,  because  her  influence  was 
all  towards  the  highest  and  best. 

And  Minnie  had  found  that  she  had  lost  nothing 


290  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

by  being  open  and  above  board  with  her  parents. 
After  an  inquiry  into  the  character  of  Minnie's  lover, 
Mr.  Pickett  had  consented  to  the  engagement,  and 
the  young  man  was  allowed  to  pay  stated  visits  to  the 
farm. 

Eweretta  often  went  to  Pickett's  Farm,  but  never 
when  Mrs.  Hannington  was  there  if  she  knew  it. 
She  disliked  Mrs.  Hannington  exceedingly,  for  on  the 
one  occasion  when  she  had  met  her,  that  lady  had 
scandalized  both  Philip  and  Phyllis,  and  Eweretta 
had  told  her  exactly  what  she  thought  of  her,  which 
had  not  been  pleasant  for  Mrs.  Hannington  to  listen 
to. 

Mrs.  Hannington  had  from  that  time  added  hatred 
of  Miss  Le  Breton  to  her  other  iniquities,  and  far 
from  curbing  her  love  of  tearing  people's  characters 
to  pieces,  had  found  a  new  victim  in  Miss  Le  Breton. 

Colonel  Lane  had  put  an  announcement  of  his 
daughter's  going  to  join  her  husband  in  India  in  the 
Hastings  Observer  to  stop  the  talk.  It  had  been  care- 
fully worded  and  appeared  like  social  news. 

Of  course  Mrs.  Hannington  had  her  say  on  the 
subject  (though  not  at  Pickett's  Farm).  She  con- 
fided to  all  her  numerous  acquaintances,  with 
this  one  exception,  that  Colonel  Lane  was  pretty 
artful,  but  that  he  couldn't  deceive  her.  Of  course, 
he  had  sent  that  notice  to  the  paper  to  hoodwink 
Hastings  folk.  There  was  a  reason  for  Miss  Lane 
having  to  "clear  out,"  and  it  was  a  pity  she  hadn't 
a  husband.  The  only  thing  was  to  smuggle  her  out 
of  the  country  and  hide  her  shame.  The  Colonel  was 
as  bad  as  his  daughter.  Look  how  'he  stayed  away 
from  home!  Then  again,  who  was  the  woman  he 
had  foisted  off  on  the  unsuspecting  Barrimores?  A 
voman  with  two  boys,  too !  No  doubt  the  boys  were 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  291 

Colonel  Lane's  own!  All  men  led  double  lives,  only 
some  of  them  didn't  get  found  out.  As  for  Mr. 
Philip  Barrimore,  it  was  to  be  hoped  he  would  get 
his  deserts  for  being  the  ruin  of  a  young  girl!  And 
he  was  friendly  with  the  White  House  people.  What 
sort  of  people  were  they?  coming  from  no  one  knew 
where!  And  why  did  they  keep  so  much  to  them- 
selves, if  they  had  not  some  guilty  secret?  Miss  Le 
Breton,  with  all  her  pretended  virtue,  had  been  shut 
up  for  hours  with  that  young  Mr.  Webster — that  she 
knew  for  a  fact — and  artists  were  always  on  far  too 
intimate  terms  with  their  models.  Miss  Le  Breton 
would  be  going  off  to  India  "to  join  her  husband" 
next! 

After  this  kind  of  tirade,  Mrs.  Hannington  usually 
ended  up  by  thanking  God  she  was  not  as  other 
women.  Mr.  Hannington  had  his  own  opinion  upon 
this  point,  and  he  did  not  thank  God  that  his  wife  was 
not  as  other  women;  indeed,  he  had  been  heard  to 
express  the  wish  that  she  could  be  like  any  woman  he 
knew — except  herself. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

A    MIRACULOUS    MEDICINE 

THERE  had  been  a  military  funeral  at  the  cemetery 
at  Ore.  It  was  the  band-sergeant  of  the  Rifles,  who 
had  served  in  the  local  Artillery  and  Rifles  for  thirty- 
four  years,  and  he  was  buried  with  full  military 
honors.  Colonel  Lane  had  gone  to  the  funeral,  for 
he  had  known  and  liked  Band-Sergeant  Dean. 

It  was  a  bitterly  cold  day,  and  Colonel  Lane  was 
not  well.  His  health  had  failed  a  good  deal  since 
his  daughter  had  left  him. 

When  the  comrades  of  the  band-sergeant  fired  a 
volley  over  the  grave,  Colonel  Lane  was  seen  to  stag- 
ger, and  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  a  friendly  hand 
would  have  fallen. 

He  was  taken  home  unconscious. 

Mrs.  Ransom  had  sent  at  once  to  Hawk's  Nest  and 
to  Dr.  Nansel. 

It  was  Mrs.  Barrimore  who  first  arrived  with  Mr. 
Burns. 

Uncle  Robert,  who  read  his  sister's  eyes,  insisted 
that  she  should  remain. 

"You  will  stay  till  he  is  well,"  announced  Uncle 
Robert.  "No  one  on  earth  is  so  good  a  nurse  as  you, 
and  Mrs.  Henderson  will  look  after  Hawk's  Nest. 
It  will  do  her  good  to  have  something  to  see  to,  so 
you  need  not  worry  in  the  least.  The  boys  will  keep 

-  occupied." 

292 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  293 

Mrs.  Ransom,  for  from  being  affronted  by  the  pro- 
posal Mr.  Burns  made,  was  much  relieved  by  it. 

"The  Colonel  was  'a  bit  of  a  handful'  when  he  was 
well,  and  goodness  knows  what  he  would  be  like  ill," 
she  said. 

But  Colonel  Lane  was  not  even  "a  bit  of  a  hand- 
ful," as  it  turned  out.  He  was  very  ill  indeed,  and 
was  as  patient  as  very  ill  persons  usually  are. 

Dr.  Nansel  insisted  on  a  professional  nurse,  but 
said  that  Mrs.  Barrimore  might  share  the  work  with 
her.  Dr.  Nansel  described  the  case  as  complicated. 
The  heart  was  very  weak.  There  had  been  at  one  time 
abscess  of  the  liver,  contracted  in  India.  But  nervous 
breakdown  of  a  very  serious  character  was  the  cause 
of  the  present  mischief.  The  condition  of  the  heart 
was  such  that  death  might  ensue.  Evidently  the 
Colonel  had  held  up  till  he  literally  dropped.  Care- 
ful nursing  and  the  enforced  rest  might  bring  him 
round,  but  Anglo-Indians  slipped  through  the  ringers 
in  a  most  amazing  way.  They  had  nearly  always 
some  undeclared  mischief,  which  asserted  itself  with 
direful  results  when  illness  from  another  cause  over- 
took them.  Anglo-Indians  were  "a  bag  of  tricks." 
Still,  of  course  there  was  hope. 

What  Annie  Barrimore  suffered  in  the  days  that 
followed  only  God  knew. 

Philip,  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  this  man's  hap- 
piness and  her  own,  was  now  quite  in  the  background. 
The  mother-love  which  had  been  so  intensely  strong 
in  her  gave  place  now  to  the  passionate  love  she 
felt  for  the  man  who  was  apparently  dying  before  her 
eyes. 

Had  she  married  him  this  would  not  have  hap- 
pened. She  felt  that  she  had  murdered  him  she  loved 
best.  She  knew  now  what  she  had  not  known  before, 


294  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

that  her  love  for  this  man  was  greater  than  her  love 
for  her  son.  Yet,  this  was  not  really  the  case;  the 
love  was  different,  that  was  all. 

Most  days,  when  the  trained  nurse  was  in  charge, 
Uncle  Robert  fetched  his  sister  to  take  a  few  hours' 
rest  in  her  home.  He  was  not  without  fear  that  she 
would  break  down;  but  he  felt  he  had  chosen  the 
lesser  evil,  for  she  would  never  have  borne  to  be  kept 
away  from  the  beloved  patient. 

On  one  of  these  brief  visits  home  she  found  Philip 
there,  and  Philip  saw  a  side  of  her  he  had  never  sus- 
pected; in  fact,  that  he  would  never  have  believed 
could  exist  in  one  so  uniformly  gentle. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  cross  and  irritable;  when  he 
offered  the  usual  caress,  she  put  him  from  her,  asking 
to  be  let  alone. 

Philip  was  much  hurt,  but  he  recalled  many  occa- 
sions on  which  he  had  repulsed  his  mother,  and  he 
realized  now  what  it  must  have  meant  to  her. 

Mrs.  Barrimore  was  in  her  Gethsemane  at  this 
time,  for  Colonel  Lane  was  too  ill  even  to  give  her  a 
sign  that  he  knew  she  was  near  him.  His  conscious- 
ness was  clouded,  and  he  was  often  so  still  that  she 
had  thought  he  had  passed  away. 

Uncle  Robert  had  insisted  on  Sir  Samuel  Fergusson 
being  called  in,  but  he  had  apparently  been  mystified 
by  the  case,  and  had  had  the  honesty  to  say  so.  He, 
however,  had  expressed  the  opinion  that  the  Colonel 
might  recover,  and  had  insisted  on  constant  nourish- 
ment. Fortunately  the  patient  could  swallow  what 
was  given  to  him,  and  did  not  resist  the  food,  which, 
of  course,  took  a  liquid  form. 

Uncle  Robert  took  a  more  hopeful  view  than  any- 
one of  the  case.  He  declared  that  nature  in  Colonel 
Lane's  case  was  insisting  on  absolute  rest,  even  of  the 


j 

THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  295 

mental  faculties.  He  had  heard  the  Colonel  say  that 
after  a  campaign  he  had  once  slept  for  four  days  and 
nights  without  waking,  and  had  been  perfectly  well 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  all  the  weariness  of  war  gone. 
Uncle  Robert  cited  other  cases  he  knew  of,  where  loss 
of  sleep  had  always  to  be  made  up.  His  own  mother 
had,  after  a  week  of  day-and-night  nursing,  spent 
most  of  a  week  in  sleep. 

Now  the  Colonel  had  been  on  a  great  strain  for  a 
long  time.  He  had  spent  himself  for  his  friend  Hen- 
derson. He  had  been  ceaselessly  worrying  about  his 
daughter;  also  (and  Uncle  Robert  put  this  first)  he 
had  been  condemned  to  resign  the  one  woman  who 
could  have  made  him  happy.  Was  it  any  wonder  that 
he  should  be  in  his  present  position? 

Uncle  Robert  put  all  this  to  Philip  after  his  mother 
had  gone  back  to  Colonel  Lane. 

"Uncle,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  lately  it  has 
been  brought  home  to  me  that  I  have  been  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh  to  everyone." 

Uncle  Robert  simply  stared  at  his  nephew. 

"I  wonder,"  went  on  Philip,  "that  any  of  you  can 
stand  me  at  any  price.  I  was  simply  beastly  about 
your  book,  and  I  was  unutterably  selfish  about — 
about  my  mother  and  Colonel  Lane.  I  put  my  great 
barge  of  a  foot  down,  and  prevented  the  happiness  of 
those  two.  Now  it  is  too  late." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Uncle  Robert.  "I 
have  an  idea  that  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  admin- 
ister the  most  potent  medicine  in  Colonel  Lane's 
case." 

"Then,  by  heaven,  I  will  do  it!"  cried  Philip, 
understanding.  "I'll  go  right  off  now  and  see  my 
mother." 

"There  is  no  time  like  the  present,"  Uncle  Robert 


296  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

affirmed.  "I  will  get  my  hat  and  go  with  you  as  far 
as  the  door.  A  blow  on  the  West  Hill  will  do  me 
good.  I  miss  my  swims  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

When  you  get  about  half  way  down  Salters  Lane 
you  come  upon  a  quiet  backwater  of  a  road,  in  which 
are  old  substantial  houses,  with  big,  sloping  gardens, 
where  century-old  trees  are  bird-haunted. 

In  one  of  these  houses,  near  that  end  of  the  road 
which  is  nearest  to  St.  Clement's  Church,  Colonel 
Lane  lived.  On  the  opposite  side  was  The  Hermitage, 
where  some  nuns  who  had  been  banished  from  France 
lived,  whom  Eweretta  had  found  out — to  their 
advantage. 

At  the  small  gate  that  led  into  the  garden  of  Colonel 
Lane's  house  Uncle  Robert  left  his  nephew. 

Philip  climbed  the  narrow  steps,  and  then  the  steep 
path,  bordered  still  by  gloriously-colored  chrysanthe- 
mums, and  knocked  upon  the  old-fashioned  door 
softly.  He  would  not  ring. 

Mrs.  Ransom  opened  the  door. 

"He  is  slightly  better,  sir,"  she  whispered  excitedly. 
"He  smiled  at  your  mother  when  she  came  in.  It  is 
the  first  notice  he  has  taken  of  anybody." 

"Is  she  with  him  now?  Do  you  think  I  could  see 
her  for  two  minutes?"  Philip  asked. 

"I  can  ask  her,  sir,"  answered  Mrs.  Ransom  with 
some  hesitation;  "but  she  is  not  over-willing  to  leave 
him  even  to  get  necessary  rest." 

"It  is  very  important,"  urged  Philip,  whereupon 
Mrs.  Ransom  asked  the  young  man  into  the  dining- 
room  and  went  noiselessly  upstairs. 

"What  is  it,  Philip?"  asked  Mrs.  Barrimore,  turn- 
ing tired  eyes  on  her  son. 

"Mother,"  began  Philip  tenderly,  "I  have  thought 
of  a  new  medicine  for  Colonel  Lane." 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  297 

"Everything  has  been  tried,  Philip.  He  seems 
slightly  better." 

"Not  everything,  mother,"  rejoined  Philip.  "The 
medicine  I  am  thinking  of  will  cure  him." 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  impatience.  But  for 
Philip  all  this  sorrow  might  have  been  spared,  she 
was  telling  herself. 

"Mother,"  said  Philip,  taking  her  slim  hand  within 
both  his,  and  looking  affectionately  at  her,  "the  medi- 
cine I  mean  is  yourself," 

She  looked  up  with  startled  eyes.  "Do  you 
mean "  she  began. 

"I  mean,"  said  Philip  firmly,  "that  you  must  tell 
him  you  will  marry  him  when  he  gets  well." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

HOW  AN  EDITION  OF  "WINGS  AND  WINDS"   WAS  SOLD 

PHILIP  returned  to  Hawk's  Nest  by  runs  and  leaps,  a 
thing  so  unusual  with  him — for  Philip  was  naturally 
indolent — that  when  his  uncle,  who  was  instructing 
the  gardener  about  some  planting-out,  saw  his  nephew 
exhibiting  such  energy,  he  thought  for  a  moment  that 
the  boy  had  taken  leave  of  his  senses. 

"Ah,  Philip!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  says  our  friend 
Cicero  :'Potest  exercitatio  et  temfierantia  etiam  in 
senectute  conservare  aliquid  pristini  roboris' — exer- 
cise and  temperance  can  preserve  something  of  our 
early  youth  even  in  old  age.  You  are  starting  exer- 
cise at  last!  But  what  news  are  you  bringing  that 
you  run?" 

Philip  was  panting  and  struggling  for  breath. 

At  last  he  said:  "You  were  quite  right,  uncle.  I 
said  my  say  and  I  went,  and  I  had  not  reached  the 
top  of  Salters  Lane  before  I  heard  steps  behind 
me — running.  It  was  my  mother.  Heavens!  but 
what  a  girl  she  looked!  She  told  me  that  I  had  per- 
formed a  miracle,  and  then  fled  back  to  the  dear 
patient.  Uncle,  I  am  in  for  a  stepfather!  and  one 
who  is  not  always  sweet-tempered!  There  will  be 
great  changes  for  you,  too,  uncle.  I  should  think 
you  had  better  take  on  Mrs.  Ransom  when  mother 
goes." 

"And  what  is  to  prevent  Mrs.  Henderson  from 
298 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  299 

having  the  post?"  inquired  Uncle  Robert,  as  he 
pushed  a  cake  of  mud  off  his  boot  with  a  stick.  "She 
is  keeping  house  now,  and  doing  it  well,  though  Lane 
did  think  she  was  not  much  of  a  manager.  Poor  soul ! 
she  seems  twice  as  happy  being  occupied.  Between 
you  and  me,  Philip,  Lane  never  did  see  further 
than  his  nose.  Look  how  little  Phyll  hoodwinked 
him!  And  Mrs.  Henderson  had  never  a  chance  with 
a  sick  husband  and  two  healthy,  unruly  boys — 
and  a  house  where  the  very  door-knobs  were  off, 
and  no  money  to  speak  of — Philip,  don't  step  on  that 
bed!  There  are  bulbs  in  it — Mrs.  Henderson  is  a 
very  intelligent  woman.  She  admires  'Wings  and 
Winds,'  and  can  quote  my  verses.  Speaking  of  those 
same  verses,  I  heard  from  the  publisher  to-day  that 
the  whole  edition  was  sold  out.  Think  of  that, 
my  boy!  The  verses  can't  be  so  bad  as  you  thought 
them!" 

"I  am  tremendously  pleased,  uncle,"  said  Philip, 
backing  on  to  the  bulbs  again. 

He  was  extremely  puzled  all  the  same. 

"Look  here,  Philip !"  cried  Uncle  Robert,  "you  had 
better  come  in.  You  do  nothing  but  trample  down 
my  beds,  and  the  path  is  wide  enough,  I  should  think! 
Luncheon  must  be  ready.  Just  notice  how  much 
brighter  Mrs.  Henderson  is  looking  despite  her  dis- 
mal garb.  She  is  not  bad-looking  either.  Her  grey 
hair  becomes  her." 

"I  must  get  back,  uncle,  thank  you,"  said  Philip. 
"I  asked  for  Soda  to  be  brought  round  by  two 
o'clock." 

"But  you  must  eat  your  luncheon,  man!" 

But  Philip  was  obdurate.  He  knew  that  Alvin 
and  Miss  Le  Breton  were  in  Hastings,  and  that  they 
were  riding.  He  knew,  too,  that  they  would  be 


300  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

returning  about  two  o'clock,  and  he  meant  to  join 
them  as  if  by  accident. 

He  knew  nothing  of  Dan's  ill-success  with  his 
Madonna,  and  firmly  believed  the  two  young 
people  were  now  engaged;  but  he  saw  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  pick  up  a  few  of  the  crumbs  that 
fell  from  the  rich  man's  table.  He  had  got  his  own 
lonely  life  to  lead,  and  now  his  work  did  not  fill  his 
life  any  longer.  It  did  not  satisfy  the  craving  for 
love  and  sympathy.  He  found  that  the  world  he  had 
created  for  himself  was  a  very  lonely  world  indeed; 
yet,  so  short  a  time  ago,  he  had  imagined  it  all- 
sufficient!  The  isolation  of  the  bungalow  had  begun 
to  be  hard  to  endure.  He  felt  it  rather  a  grievance, 
too,  that  new  people  should  be  at  Hawk's  Nest.  It 
was  an  invasion  of  his  home.  Home?  it  would 
never  be  home  again,  with  his  mother  gone! — his 
mother  whom  he  had  never  valued  half  enough. 
Truly  his  world  seemed  to  have  crumbled  away  about 
him! 

If  Eweretta  had  only  lived!  How  different  it  all 
might  have  been!  If  only  Dan  had  not  been  in  the 
running! — but  he  must  never  think  of  that! 

Miss  Le  Breton,  so  like  to  Eweretta,  but  more  than 
Eweretta  had  ever  been  in  some  ways!  Eweretta 
had  never  that  sweet  calm  which  made  her  half-sister 
so  restful !  How  desirable  she  was ! 

How  Philip  wanted  rest!  From  what?  From 
himself! 

Philip  rode  slowly  in  the  direction  of  Gissing,  so 
that  he  had  only  got  as  far  as  Ore  church  when  he 
heard  the  welcome  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  behind, 
and  drawing  rein,  waited  for  Miss  Le  Breton  and  Al- 
vin  to  overtake  him. 

Philip  uncovered  as  they  came  up. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  301 

"Hallo!  Barrimore,"  called  Alvin.  "You  were 
the  man  in  my  mind!  There  are  animated  pictures 
— all  Canadian — to-night  at  the  Public  Hall  at  eight 
o'clock.  We  are  all  driving  in  to  see  them ;  and  there 
is  a  spare  place.  Won't  you  come  with  us?  You 
know  a  little  of  Canada,  too.  For  us,  it  will  be  like 
going  home." 

There  was  a  curious  choke  in  the  Colonial's  voice 
which  did  not  escape  Philip. 

"Yes,  do  come,  Mr.  Barrimore,"  said  Miss  Le 
Breton. 

That  decided  Philip. 

"I  should  much  enjoy  it,"  he  said.  "It  is  very  kind 
of  you  to  ask  me  to  go  with  you." 

"You  had  better  come  back  with  us  and  have  din- 
ner. We  are  going  to  dine  at  five  o'clock  and  dispense 
with  tea  to-day.  Neither  of  us  has  had  much 
luncheon,  so  we  shall  have  a  good  appetite,  I  hope. 
But  you " 

"I  have  not  lunched  at  all,"  Philip  told  them,  "so 
I  shall  be  able  to  do  justice  to  dinner  though  it  is 
early.  I  will  come  in  about  half-past  four  if  I 
may." 

"Come  as  early  as  you  like,"  said  Alvin. 

The  talk  on  the  way  was  all  of  Canada,  and  Philip 
found  himself  wondering  why  Alvin  had  come  to 
England,  since  he  had  apparently  left  his  heart  in 
Canada. 

They  walked  their  horses  abreast  unless  the  coming 
of  a  vehicle  made  it  necessary  to  fall  out  of  line,  and 
it  was  Alvin  who  did  most  of  the  talking. 

"This  time  of  the  year  I  should  be  hauling  wheat 
into  Broadview,  as  likely  as  not,  if  I  were  back  in 
Canada,"  he  said.  "I  came  over  at  the  end  of 
November,  the  only  other  time  I  came  to  England. 


302  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

I  was  'Batching'  with  a  young  fellow  then.  Lord! 
how  we  worked  to  get  all  rounded  up!  We  were 
loading  all  the  Sunday,  I  remember.  We  took  about 
five  hundred  bushels  of  wheat  to  Broadview,  and  put 
a  new  floor  in  the  granary;  got  in  and  cut  up  the 
wood,  lined  up  the  shack,  deepened  and  cribbed  the 
wells  all  within  the  inside  of  a  fortnight — and  the 
temperature  below  zero!" 

"I  should  think  you  feel  yourself  well  out  of  all 
that,"  suggested  Philip. 

"No,  it  sounds  queer,  but  I  don't.  I  am  always 
thinking  what  they  are  doing  now  out  there.  The  true 
Canadian  loves  Canada  as  the  Irish  love  Ireland.  I 
don't  mean  the  sort  that  get  dumped  down  there  from 
England — cheeky,  uppish,  lazy  chaps  that  turn  tail  at 
a  bit  of  work.  I  mean  Canadians." 

"But  some  Englishmen  seem  to  get  on  in  Canada," 
ventured  Philip. 

"The  right  sort  do,"  acknowledged  the  Colonial, 
"but  the  right  sort  would  get  on  anywhere." 

They  parted  company  at  the  bungalow,  and  Philip 
went  over  to  the  White  House  later. 

He  was  taken  into  the  drawing-room  by  Mattie, 
where  he  found  himself  alone. 

His  eyes  wandered  round  the  room  and  fell  on  an 
enormous  unopened  parcel  addressed  to  Miss  Le 
Breton. 

On  the  big  white  label  was  the  name  of  Uncle 
Robert's  publisher. 

Then  Philip  understood  how  a  whole  edition  of 
"Wings  and  Winds"  had  been  sold. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

HOW    A    SCANDAL-MONGER    WAS    SERVED 

To  have  voluntarily  exiled  oneself,  and  to  find  when 
one  wishes  to  return  that  every  door  is  closed  against 
one,  is  not  a  pleasant  experience! 

Philip  Barrimore  realized  that  in  leaving  Hawk's 
Nest  he  had  not  only  done  it  of  his  own  free  will,  but 
against  the  wishes  of  all  concerned.  Now,  though 
he  could  certainly  go  back  and  take  possession  of  his 
old  room  if  he  would,  yet  the  door  of  the  old  home 
was  closed  against  him;  or,  to  put  the  thing  more 
plainly,  the  old  home  no  longer  existed.  Mrs.  Hender- 
son and  her  boys  were  installed  there.  His  mother 
would  be  going  away.  Hawk's  Nest  remained,  but 
the  home  was  practically  gone. 

In  the  story  Philip  had  read  aloud  at  the  White 
House,  he  had  ventilated  views  which  had  closed 
another  door  to  him — the  door  of  love.  Dan — wise 
Dan! — had  entered  at  that  door — so  Philip  thought! 
The  bungalow  became  a  horror  of  loneliness. 

Philip  tried  to  work,  but  no  ideas  came.  He  would 
go  out  on  Soda,  coming  home  wearied,  but  not  re- 
freshed. 

At  night  he  invariably  walked  across  the  field  and 
looked  upon  the  White  House. 

Often  he  saw  the  light  of  Alvin's  lantern  going 
to  the  little  wood.  Always  he  saw  the  light  through 
the  blind  of  the  window  he  had  accidentally  learned 
was  Miss  Le  Breton's. 

303 


304  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Another  fact  he  had  definitely  learned — it  had  been 
on  the  drive  home  to  Gissing,  after  the  animated  pic- 
ture show  at  the  Public  Hall — was  that  he  loved 
Eweretta's  half-sister  more  passionately  even  than  he 
had  ever  loved  Eweretta.  And  she  was  also  lost  to 
him!  He  was  stranded,  a  lonely  man  who  was  now 
starving  for  love  and  sympathy. 

In  his  mother's  happiness,  which  was  indirectly  of 
his  making,  he  had  no  part.  Colonel  Lane  had  never 
really  liked  him.  A  good  many  people  did  not  like 
him;  but  Alvin  seemed  to  do  so.  For  this  reason 
Philip  began  to  have  an  affection  for  the  rough 
Colonial.  Uncle  Robert's  affection  he  had  done  his 
best  to  kill.  True,  Uncle  Robert  was  always  kind  to 
him,  but  when  had  Uncle  Robert  ever  been  anything 
but  kind  to  any  human  being? 

There  was  no  comfort  in  going  to  Hawk's  Nest 
now.  Those  two  boys,  Eric  and  Will,  played  tricks  on 
him.  Why  were  they  not  sent  to  Brighton  College  yet  ? 
They  were  not  going  till  after  Christmas.  They 
turned  Hawk's  Nest  into  a  pandemonium,  and  Uncle 
Robert  seemed  to  like  it !  Two  or  three  nights  a  week 
he  took  those  boys  to  the  Hippodrome. 

The  mother  was  home  again.  She  was  preparing 
for  her  wedding,  and  Colonel  Lane  was  constantly 
there.  Of  course,  Colonel  Lane  had  got  well  as  by 
a  miracle! 

But  Dan  ?  How  was  it  Dan  did  not  turn  up  at  the 
White  House?  Philip  dreaded  his  coming,  but  he 
resented  his  absence.  If  he  had  been  in  Dan's  shoes 
he  would  have  been  again  at  the  White  House  before 
now! 

It  was  strange,  too,  that  Dan  was  never  mentioned 
by  Alvin.  Once  or  twice  Philip  had  mentioned  Dan 
to  Alvin  in  hopes  that  he  would  say  something  about 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  305 

the  engagement.  Philip  wanted  to  know  if  Miss  Le 
Breton  was  happy  about  it,  but  he  could  not  ask  a 
direct  question. 

At  last  a  letter  came  from  Dan.  He  wrote  from 
Nice,  where  he  said  he  had  installed  his  mother  and 
aunt  for  the  winter.  He  said  he  had  been  seedy  him- 
self. But  not  one  word  of  the  Madonna!  Could  it 
be  possible? — no,  he  dared  not  think  of  it!  Yet, 
would  not  Dan  speak  of  his  happiness  if  Miss  Le 
Breton  had  accepted  him? 

It  was  a  dull  November  morning  when  Philip  got 
Dan's  letter.  He  could  not  rest,  so  he  told  Davis  to 
get  Soda  out,  deciding  to  ride  in  to  Hastings. 

As  he  was  starting,  Alvin  rode  up  alone.  He  too 
was  riding  into  Hastings,  and  hailed  the  chance  of 
Philip's  company. 

"I  heard  from  Dan  Webster  to-day,"  Philip  said, 
as  they  rode  side  by  side.  He  glanced  at  the  Colonial 
furtively  to  see  the  effect  of  the  announcement. 

"Poor  Webster!"  muttered  Alvin. 

Philip's  heart  bounded.  "Poor  Webster!" — why 
did  Alvin  say  poor  Webster? 

"He  was  pretty  hard  hit,  poor  devil!"  went  on 
Alvin.  "I  blundered  too.  I  thought  my  niece  cared 
for  him." 

Philip  took  off  his  cap  and  mopped  his  brow. 

"Where  does  he  write  from?" 

"He  is  in  Nice,  with  his  mother  and  aunt.  He  is 
seedy,"  answered  Philip,  "but  he  says  he  is  returning 
at  once  to  work." 

"There  is  no  understanding  women,"  Alvin  next 
said.  "I  think  Aimee  means  to  remain  unmarried. 
I  should  like  her  to  marry  some  good  man.  Mrs.  Le 
Breton  could  live  with  them.  I  should  make  that  a 
condition;  and  I  should  go  back  to  Canada.  I 


306  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

thought  I  should  like  living  a  gentleman's  life,  as  John 
did.  But  I  don't.  I  would  rather  be  in  Canada  and 
'hire  out.' ' 

"But  surely  with  all  your  money  you  would  not 
need  to  'hire  out'?"  laughed  Philip. 

He  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  laugh  out.  He  felt 
like  shouting.  It  was  all  very  well  for  Alvin  to  say 
his  niece  wanted  to  remain  unmarried!  She  should 
not  remain  unmarried  if  Philip  could  help  it! 

"You  see,"  said  Alvin  uneasily,  "I  have  been  used 
to  'hard  work  all  my  life,  and  I  am  like  a  fish  out  of 
water." 

"But  why  hire  out?"  asked  Philip.  "Couldn't  you 
buy  a  farm  and  work  it?" 

"Young  man,  there  are  things  you  do  not  under- 
stand," Alvin  told  him  a  litle  curtly. 

Philip  was  silent. 

Alvin  himself  was  silent  too  for  some  time.  His 
thoughts,  awakened  by  Philip's  natural  question, 
brought  his  sin  vividly  before  him.  He  buy  a  farm, 
indeed!  was  he  not  at  this  very  moment  living  on 
Eweretta's  charity?  He  could  not  bear  it!  He  was 
still  strong  and  hearty.  There  were  years  more  work 
in  him.  If  only  he  could  see  Eweretta  happily  mar- 
ried, he  would  then  disappear. 

If  only  Eweretta  would  let  him  confess  his  crime, 
and  give  her  her  own  identity,  then  he  felt  sure  Philip 
would  claim  her.  He  had  that  very  morning  had  a 
painful  interview  with  the  girl  on  this  subject.  But 
she  obstinately  refused  to  give  him  permission  to 
speak. 

Alvin  resolved  to  go  to  Father  Donelli,  tell  him  the 
whole  story,  and  beg  him  to  use  his  influence  with 
Eweretta.  She  liked  the  old  priest;  moreover,  he 
could,  if  he  would,  use  compulsion. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  307 

Things  could  not  go  on  as  the  were.  The 
"Thirteenth  Man"  had,  he  felt,  sold  his  soul  to  rid 
himself  of  his  ill-luck.  Surely  Eweretta,  as  a  good 
Catholic,  would  not  wish  him  to  remain  with  such  a 
sin  on  his  conscience  if  Father  Donelli  made  her  see 
it  in  its  true  light  ? 

Very  little  conversation  took  place  between  the  two 
men  after  this.  Each  was  full  of  his  own  thoughts. 

A  diversion  occurred  as  they  came  to  Blacklands. 

A  big  crowd  was  gathered  at  the  corner  by  the 
church.  In  the  centre  of  the  crowd  was  a  police- 
man holding  by  the  arm  a  bedraggled  and  dripping 
woman,  who  was  sobbing  angrily,  while  the  crowd 
jeered. 

Alvin  inquired  of  a  man  what  was  the  matter. 

"Old  Tom  Jones  has  ducked  a  woman  in  the  sea 
for  slandering  his  wife,"  said  the  man,  "and  the  bobby 
is  seeing  her  home.  Serve  her  right,  the  old  cat! 
she's  always  spreading  scandals  about  people!" 

"I  know  that  woman  by  sight,"  Philip  remarked 
to  Alvin.  "I  have  seen  her  at  Pickett's  farm ;  but  not 
just  lately." 

"It  must  be  that  Mrs.  Hannington,"  said  Alvin. 
"Aimee  went  for  her  at  the  farm  because  she  was 
scandalizing  someone.  The  Picketts  have  thrown  her 
over." 

They  rode  on,  parting  at  the  gate  of  Hawk's  Nest. 

"Come  in  to-night,  won't  you?"  called  Alvin  as 
he  rode  off. 

"Thank  you,  I  will,"  Philip  called  back. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE    MYSTERY    OF    THE    LITTLE    WOOD    REVEALED    AT 

LAST 

WAS  it  an  accident  that  when  Philip  presented  him- 
self at  the  White  House  Miss  Le  Breton  should  be 
alone  to  receive  him?  If  so,  it  was  a  pretty  lucky 
accident,  thought  the  young  man. 

Eweretta  was  sitting  idly  by  the  bright  wood  fire, 
her  slim  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

A  strange  tremor  ran  through  Philip  as  she  rose  to 
meet  him. 

He  knew  that  she  must  have  felt  his  hand  tremble 
when  he  took  hers. 

He  began  to  babble  strange  words. 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Le  Breton !"  he  stammered.  "I 
am  not  myself.  Oh !  you  will  scarcely  think  me  sane 
when  I  tell  you  that  for  the  moment  I  thought  you 
were  Eweretta." 

"We  are  alike,"  she  answered,  becoming  ashen 
pale. 

"Yes,  but  so  different — yet  more  than  once  I  have 
seen  Eweretta  looking  out  of  your  eyes." 

She  turned  her  face  away  into  shadow. 

"But  why  should  that  move  you,  since  you  have 
forgotten  her — or,  at  least,  ceased  to  grieve  for  her?" 
she  asked. 

"Miss  Le  Breton,  I  tried  to  forget  her.  Can  you 
blame  me?  I  could  not  have  lived  if  I  had  let  my- 
self so  remember.  I  am  a  man  few  like  and  fewer 

308 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  309 

love.  She  loved  me  with  all  her  soul.  I  lost  her. 
But  till  I  saw  you  I  can  say  my  heart  remained  in  her 
grave.  Oh,  I  must  speak.  I  must  say  what  is  in 
my  heart,  even  if  it  is  to  call  upon  me  bitter  disap- 
pointment. I  am  unfaithful  at  last  to  her  dear 
memory,  for  I  love  you!" 

He  came  close  to  her  and  took  her  hand.  Her  face 
was  turned  from  him. 

"I  love  you,  Aimee,  as  I  never  loved  Eweretta, 
though  God  knows  I  loved  her  well!  Until  to-day 
I  thought  I  should  never  tell  you  this.  Ah!  I  said 
I  was  unfaithful,  but  I  think  that  was  not  true. 
You  are  Eweretta  and  yourself  in  one  to  me.  It  is 
as  if  my  old  love  had  risen  from  her  grave,  away  in 
Qu'Appelle,  and  come  to  me,  nobler,  greater  and 
more  beautiful!  If  you  can  love  me,  then  you  can 
make  of  me  something  worthy.  I  have  done  many 
things  just  for  your  sake — tried  to  be  better  and 
conquer  my  faults.  I  have  done  this,  though  I  thought 
you  would  never  be  anything  to  me.  I  have  tried 
to  act  as  you  would  approve,  if  you  knew.  And  till 
to-day,  I  thought  you  belonged  to  another.  Aimee! 
will  you  be  my  good  angel?  Will  you  be  Eweretta 
to  me?" 

She  turned  shining  eyes  upon  him,  eyes  brimming 
with  tenderness  as  she  said :  "Yes,  I  will  be  Eweretta 
to  you." 

He  caught  her  to  him  in  a  passionate  embrace. 

Neither  of  them  heard  Alvin  enter.  They  thought 
only  of  themselves  and  the  heaven  into  which  they 
had  entered,  till  a  heavy  sob  broke  the  silence,  and 
both  turned  to  see  Alvin  with  his  face  hidden  by  his 
hands. 

"Uncle!  dear  uncle!"  cried  Eweretta,  going  to  him 
swiftly. 


3io  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"I  am  going  to  do  it!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  going 
to  break  my  promise!  Philip  Barrimore,  this  is  not 
Aimee  Le  Breton.  It  is  your  own  Eweretta!" 

Then  he  gasped  for  breath.  Philip  stared  from  one 
to  the  other  in  staggering  bewilderment. 

"It  was  my  sin — my  own  great  sin,"  went  on  Alvin. 

Then,  in  a  burst,  he  told  the  whole  miserable  story, 
finishing  by  saying:  "Marry,  my  children — soon. 
I  must  wait  to  see  that.  Then  I  go  back  to  the 
prairie." 

His  face  looked  different  from  what  they  had  ever 
seen  it — from  what  anyone  had  ever  seen  it.  It  was 
happy. 

"I  am  no  longer  the  ill-starred  Thirteenth  Man," 
he  asserted.  "I  am  been  so  fortunate  as  to  see 
the  lovers  who  were  separated  by  my  crime  reunited, 
and  the  money  of  which  I  robbed  an  angel  given 
back." 

Eweretta  flung  her  arms  about  her  uncle's  neck. 
She  was  no  longer  the  calm  Miss  Le  Breton.  She 
was  the  old  impulsive  Eweretta,  and  was  weeping 
unrestrainedly. 

"Uncle,  dear  uncle,  you  must  not  leave  us  and  go 
back  to  the  old  hard,  lonely  life.  We  want  you, 
Philip  and  I,  and  no  one  must  ever  know  this  story. 
Strangers  would  not  ever  understand  how  you  were 
hunted  and  driven  always;  how  you  never  had  a 
chance;  how  you  thought  yourself  cursed  from  your 
birth,  and  that  nothing  seemed  to  matter.  Strangers 
would  not  know  that  you  had  all  the  time  a  big, 
loving,  starved  heart,  starved  for  love,  that  no  one 
gave  you,  even  your  mother.  But  /  love  you,  Uncle 
Thomas,  I  love  you!" 

The  rough  Colonial's  face  had  upon  it  a  light  in- 
describable, as  he  said :  "I  unlucky !  I,  who  have 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  311 

found  love!  No,  I  am  rich.  I  am  fortunate!  The 
prairie  will  be  no  more  lonely.  I  shall  live  in  this  hour. 
But  I  must  go — yes,  I  must  go!  the  prairie  calls,  and 
calls." 

A  wistful  look  came  into  Alvin's  eyes,  as  if  he  were 
gazing  on  a  far,  far  horizon. 

"Ah,  I  am  homesick!  homesick!"  he  said  in  deep, 
lingering  tones.  "Homesick,  for  the  old  rough, 
wild  life.  How  homesick  you  can  neither  of  you 
know,  even  Eweretta,  for  she  never  roughed  it.  I 
must  leave  you  now — leave  you  to  realize  your  hap- 
piness. Before  you  go,  Philip"  (it  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  called  the  young  man  by  his  Christian 
name),  "before  you  go,  come  to  me  in  the  little  wood, 
and  I  will  show  you  something.  The  gate  will  be 
open." 

Philip  had  not  spoken  one  word.  A  war  had  been 
going  on  within  him,  a  war  of  conflicting  emotions. 
The  affection  which  had  of  late  been  growing  within 
him  for  Thomas  Alvin  was  battling  with  anger  and 
indignation  at  the  crime  of  the  man  who  had  so 
nearly  wrecked  the  happiness  of  himself  and  Eweretta. 

"Philip,"  said  Eweretta,  reading  his  thought,  "we 
must  be  merciful  if  we  are  to  expect  mercy." 

"Dear  heart !"  he  said,  drawing  her  once  more  into 
his  arms,  "you  are  right.  You  are  always  right! 
But  why,  tell  me  why  you  did  not  disclose  the  secret 
to  your  old  lover?" 

Her  eyes  smiled. 

"At  first  I  thought  you  had  ceased  to  love  your 
Eweretta.  I  wanted  to  see  if  you  would  love  her 
again  in  the  person  of  Aimee  Le  Breton." 

"But  how  could  I  have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  have 
known  you  under  any  disguise?"  he  cried. 

"Yet  it  is  so  simple,"  she  told  him.     "You  were 


3i2  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

assured  of  my  death.  You  even  went  to  Canada  to 
see  my  grave.  You  knew  I  had  a  sister  so  marvel- 
lously like  me  as  to  be  easily  mistaken  for  me.  You 
were  told  I  was  Aimee  Le  Breton.  Then  again,  sorrow 
robbed  me  of  my  old  gaiety,  changed  my  disposition. 
Oh,  the  delusion  was  easy  enough  to  carry  out!" 

"It  was  carried  out,  in  any  case,"  he  told  her.  "Yet 
there  were  moments  when  I  saw  the  soul  of  my  lost 
love  looking  out  of  your  dear  eyes.  Oh,  my  darling! 
a  miracle  has  happened!  And  can  you  love  a  vain, 
cantankerous  brute  like  me?" 

"I  see  deeper,"  she  said  simply.  "The  Philip  I 
thought  dead  is  alive  again.  We  were  both  dead, 
dearest,  and  now  we  are  alive." 

It  was  then  that  Philip  brought  the  little  ring  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  once  more  it  was  placed  on 
Eweretta's  finger. 

It  was  late  when  the  lovers  passed  out  of  the  house 
through  the  mist  and  the  dripping  bushes  to  the  gate 
which  led  into  the  little  wood. 

A  strange  sense  of  mystery  seemed  to  enwrap  them. 
They  were  to  know  at  last  what  lay  within  the  care- 
fully-guarded enclosure. 

A  lantern  stood  upon  a  slab  of  stone  at  the  open 
door  which  was  fixed  in  the  high  brick  wall. 

They  entered,  and  saw.  Within  the  walled  enclo- 
sure was  a  roughly-built  "shack,"  or  log  cabin,  in 
which  a  light  was  burning. 

Alvin  heard  them  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
shack,  inviting  them  to  enter. 

A  lamp  burned  upon  a  roughly-constructed  table 
in  the  one  room,  showing  the  meagre  contents — a 
table,  a  chair  and  a  bed.  The  bed  was  of  rough  boards 
nailed  to  the  log-wall  and,  for  a  pillow,  an  old  saddle 
did  duty,  aided  by  an  old  coat  rolled  up.  A  colored 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  313 

blanket  and  a  rug  made  of  tawny  wolf-skins,  home- 
sewn,  completed  the  bed- furniture. 

Alvin  offered  the  one  chair  to  Eweretta,  requesting 
Philip  to  sit  upon  the  bed.  He  himself  sat  on  a  block 
of  wood  somewhat  like  a  "butcher's  block." 

In  the  full  light  of  the  lamp  the  young  people  saw 
the  Colonial — really  saw  him  as  he  was.  He  was 
wearing  a  shirt  of  dark  flannel,  open  at  the  neck.  He 
was  also  wearing  "jumpers." 

"You  see  now,  don't  you,"  said  Alvin,  "that  I  am 
homesick?  I  made  myself  a  hidden  refuge.  I  built 
a  shack  and,  shut  in  there,  tried  to  think  myself  back 
in  the  North-West.  There  upon  a  nail  hangs  the  gun 
that  has  been  my  companion  for  so  many  years." 

He  took  it  down  and  laid  it  across  his  knees, 
caressing  it  with  his  hands. 

He  talked  on,  and  neither  Eweretta  nor  Philip 
interrupted  him. 

"This  gun  has  travelled  many  a  mile  slung  behind 
the  wagon,  and  I've  brought  down  many  a  prairie 
chicken  with  it.  You  should  see  the  prairie  chickens 
feasting  on  the  stooks!  Ah,  they  are  very  good  eat- 
ing! I  guess  I'll  be  too  late  for  the  'fall'  ploughing. 
But  I  shall  get  a  job,  never  fear.  You  won't  keep  me 
long  waiting,  will  you?  now  you  have  seen — this? 
I  can't  go  till  I  see  you  married,  and  you  can  see  now 
how  homesick  I  am!" 

Philip  was  holding  Eweretta's  hand.  She  was 
silently  weeping. 

"I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  going  back  to  that 
hard,  lonely  life,  uncle,"  she  exclaimed.  "At  least, 
take  enough  money  for  some  land  and  stock.  For 
love  of  me,  take  that!  I  see  well  enough  that  you 
can't  be  happy  here,  but  do — ah,  do  let  me  help  you 
to  make  life  easy  out  there!" 


3i4  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

"You  may  lend  me  the  fare  out,  Eweretta,"  he 
answered.  "I  will  repay  it.  Oh,  I  shall  be  able  to 
repay  it!  I  know  that  the  'Thirteenth  Man'  will  have 
luck  from  now.  The  spell  is  broken.  I  shall  miss 
the  threshing.  Ah,  the  threshing  gets  quickly  done! 
Over  a  thousand  bushels  of  wheat  or  upwards  of  two 
thousand  bushels  of  oats  in  a  day!  Man!  They  go 
to  sleep  in  this  country!" 

Alvin  bared  his  brawny  arm  and  looked  at  it. 
"This  can  work,"  he  said.  "Why,  once  I  pulled  a 
cow  out  alone  that  had  got  buried  under  two  settings 
of  straw.  It  had  burrowed  where  the  separator  had 
stood,  and  the  straw  had  slid  off  the  top  with  the 
weight  of  the  snow  and  buried  the  poor  beast." 

Thomas  Alvin  was,  they  saw,  drunk  with  Canada 
this  night.  They  saw  that  it  would  be  cruelty  to  try 
to  prevent  his  going  back.  They  knew,  moreover,  that 
it  would  be  useless  to  do  so. 

Eweretta  came  close  to  'him  and  put  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  her  wet  cheek  against  his. 

"But  you  will  come  back  and  see  us,  uncle.  You 
promise  that?" 

And  he  promised. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

THE    LAST 

"  'ALL'S  well  that  ends  well,' "  quoted  Mr.  Burns 
from  his  easy  chair.  "So  it's  a  boy,  and  mother  and 
son  doing  well,  eh?  And  what  does  Philip  say? 
Doing  the  proud  father?  Eh,  what?" 

Mrs.  Lane,  who  had  once  been  Annie  Barrimore, 
had  just  come  to  Hawk's  Nest  from  the  White  House, 
where  a  son  had  come  for  Eweretta  and  Philip. 

It  was  again  nearing  the  end  of  November,  just  a 
year  since  the  events  of  the  last  chapter. 

"Oh,  there  is  great  rejoicing,  I  assure  you!"  cried 
Mrs.  Lane.  "I  came  in  to  tell  you  before  going  home. 
And  my  dear  Ted  has  such  good  news  too!  Phyllis 
is  most  happy  with  her  husband,  and  according  to 
Arbuthnot,  is  an  altogether  model  wife!  And  I  have 
yet  another  piece  of  news  for  you.  To-day  is  a  day 
of  good  news,  I  think.  That  dear  old  Thomas  Alvin 
has  'struck  oil,'  he  says  in  a  letter.  I  don't  know 
how  exactly,  but  he  has  made  money,  and  says  he  is 
coming  over  this  'fall'  to  spend  Christmas  at  the 
White  House.  I  never  shall  understand  how  they 
all  tapt  the  secret  of  Eweretta's  identity,  or  why 
Eweretta  chose  to  personate  her  dead  sister.  I  told 
her  that  her  romantic  idea  of  winning  her  lover  for  the 
second  time  in  the  person  of  Aimee,  might  have  cost 
the  poor  fellow  his  life.  But  they  are  very  happy, 
and,  as  you  say,  'All's  well  that  ends  well.'  You 
know,  don't  you,  that  Philip's  new  book  is  out? 

315 


3i6  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

Eweretta  says  it  will  make  her  husband  famous. 
And  Philip  says,  'Not  so  famous  as  Dan's  "Madonna" 
has  made  him.' ' 

"Dan!  Ah,  you  don't  know  the  news  about  Dan!" 
broke  in  Uncle  Robert.  "I  got  that  to-day.  He  is 
going  to  marry  a  charming  woman — the  daughter  of 
a  big  painter — I  forget  his  name." 

Uncle  Robert  fumbled  in  his  pocket  to  find  the  let- 
ter, but  failed. 

"Anyway,  the  father  of  the  girl  is  a  big  painter, 
and  the  girl  has  a  pile  of  money,  though  Dan  does 
not  need  it  now.  Mrs.  Webster  and  Miss  Linkin  are 
going  to  take  up  their  permanent  abode  at  Nice,  for 
Isabel — nice  girl,  Isabel — is  going  to  marry  one  of  the 
masters  at  Dulwich  College." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!"  said  Mrs.  Lane.  "Really 
everything  seems  to  be  happening  like  a  fairy-tale. 
But  I  must  hurry  away  to  tell  my  news  to  Ted." 

Uncle  Robert  smiled  to  himself  when  his  sister  had 
gone.  He  smiled  so  much  that  Mrs.  Henderson,  who 
came  in,  was  quite  curious  to  know  what  was  amusing 
him  so,  and  asked  him  the  question. 

"It's  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices,"  said  Uncle 
Robert.  "By  the  way,  those  boys  will  soon  be  home 
for  their  holidays.  Sit  down  a  minute — I  am  sure  you 
have  time,  though  you  do  seem  always  to  have  your 
hands  full.  I  want  to  talk  about  the  boys.  We  can 
only  be  young  once,  you  know,  though  you  seem  to 
be  picking  up  a  second  youth  from  somewhere — 
but  that  is  not  the  point.  I  want  to  make  those  boys 
very  happy  these  holidays.  They  have  done  ex- 
tremely well  at  school,  and  they  have  done  us  credit. 
I  want  to  give  them  something  they  greatly  wish  for 
— a  Christmas  present,  you  know,  and  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  about  it.  You  are  a  nervous  little  woman, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN  317 

you  know,  and  you  might  find  it  alarming — the  pres- 
ent, I  mean — considering  what  daring  young  rascals 
those  boys  are,  and  I  want  to  assure  you  that  I  shall 
take  every  necessary  precaution  to  ensure  their  safety. 
I  shall  get  their  word  that  they  will  run  no  risks,  and 
those  boys  understand  honor,  and  their  word  will 
be  quite  sufficient.  Also,  I  shall  get  a  reliable  man 
to  accompany  them.  Now  don't  you  want  to  know 
what  the  present  is?" 

Mrs.  Henderson's  eyes  filled.  She  was,  as  she  con- 
stantly was,  overcome  by  this  man's  goodness  and 
generosity. 

"I  can't  find  words,"  she  said.  "You  have  been 
so  good — so  very  good  to  us  all,  I " 

"Tut!  tut!"  said  Uncle  Robert.  "I  amuse  myself 
in  my  own  way.  That  is  all.  But  the  present  ?  Well, 
I  am  going  to  buy  a  couple  of  pretty  ponies  and  have 
a  man  from  Russell's  to  teach  Will  and  Eric  to  ride. 
It  will  be  good  for  them  too,  for  they  are  to  be  sol- 
diers. Independently  of  that,  it  is  good  for  boys  to 
learn  to  ride.  I  used  to  be  fond  of  it,  but  I  am  too 
stout  now.  Thank  goodness,  I  can  still  swim.  I  did 
enjoy  the  swims  with  those  boys  in  the  summer! 
Plucky  little  beggars  they  are !" 

"They  will  be  in  the  seventh  heaven!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Henderson.  "They  have  always  wished  so  much 
to  ride." 

Uncle  Robert  beamed. 

"I  do  hope  those  boys  will  grow  up  to  be  a  comfort 
to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Henderson  fervently.  "You  have 
done  so  much  for  us  all,  and  there  is  nothing  we  can 
give  you  in  return." 

"What  should  I  have  done  without  you?"  cried 
Uncle  Robert.  "There  Annie  goes  off  and  marries 
her  Colonel.  Philip  forsakes  the  Nest — Hawk's  Nest, 


3i8  THE  THIRTEENTH  MAN 

I  should  have  been  left  stranded  with  no  one  to  look 
after  me  but  you!  And  you  keep  the  home  for 
me  as  comfortable  as  Annie  did,  which  is  saying  a 
good  deal,  for  there  are  few  women  so  capable  as 
Annie." 

"But  that  is  so  little!"  said  Mrs.  Henderson. 

"Then  there  is  something  greater  you  can  do — if 
you  will,"  he  told  her. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Be  rry  wife!" 


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